Cemetery man

In a season of misspent youth, I found myself standing, Upon an ancient grave, under the placid moon I fed on inscriptions of a marble-gray tomb, with its eloquent cracks, running like fingers through its dust-ridden facade Purple veins, which read: A father, a son, an ordinary man I glanced toward the cemetery gates, with bars of ice blue iron-cast, glowing under the moonlit night, illuminated by crows of Salem’s lot, As they spread their wings, squawking to make their presents known As my thoughts dwelt, plagued by a life wasted, I found a leather-bound book on a bed between the faded petals of rose The parchments brittle as it flew, and spilled its essence of a once sheltered existence Mere fears of an ordinary man: Of love lost, then won Then lost again It seemed that even the heart was only meant to take, break so much Its pages yellow-stained, like the amber sun Still bright as a blessed soul in bloom It’s echoes of a heart, beating like a drum And yet in the end, it fell on deafened ears The soft murmurs of hope fading, peeling from the walls of sanity Thoughts of my own path, by destiny’s design indeed did cross my mind This warm, fuzzy blanket that once enveloped me, now took on a frigid glow As I glanced upon the midnight crows, squawking within the creeping mist, they disappeared A mirage perhaps… On this night, The walk home felt like an eternity For even the crickets did not sing I felt so cold, alone