Souls of the dead return on Halloween, a perfect audience for my musings.
Cemetery Dictation On All Hallows' Eve
Peaceful last home, a gentle breeze.
Marble monuments, few flowers survive.
Bodies faded away, once riddled with disease.
On All Hallows' Eve, tradition says souls arrive.
At midnight, Bo and I open the rusty gate.
Light a candle, watch the fog creep in.
Our voices are raspy, a quiet muffle.
Houses of death tend to chill one's skin.
Fear must not freeze my senses,
only a timeless city of quiet bones.
A serene calm helps defenses.
Holy silence from blessed stones.
Ashes to dust, such polite civility,
whispered thoughts, historical tranquility.
Most listen with grave respect.
My poetic musings, they do protect.
By Kathie Stehr