Neon Graveyard

The way I envision an old forgotten graveyard

Fractured flowers crumble,
bowing under the weight
of a single stubborn bloom.
Emotion‑swept hills rise and fall
around twisted cobbled pathways
that weave through cold electric vistas
where the night drifts, unhurried,
across ash‑laden clouds.

Spirits stir among the gravestones,
their quiet slumber broken
by the soft hum of forgotten things.
Trinkets rust in the soil,
expired blooms cling to memory,
and the earth glitters faintly
with what was left behind.

A kaleidoscope of auras gathers,
shimmering in the twilight hush—
each color a whisper,
each flicker a story—
until the whole horizon glows
with the strange, serene radiance
of the neon graveyard