Interred beneath the cool
Damp loam
The past lays curled
the rope around its neck
an invitation
or a warding
against the spirits lurking
just beyond the reach
of the dim bog light
at the edge of the gloaming
ghosts with dark twitching fingers
tongueless mouths
and cemetery smiles
all to beckon me
Fear of Death
unknown
twin ravens tirelessly scout the dusty surface
advancing miles of an unnamed road
twisting far into the silent distance
beyond the rotting trees
a lonely grove of gallows
full of reticent ghosts.
Edges 