Graveyards at night.
A place of solitude.
A place of fright.
Hidden behind a headstone
Hidden from the world
Just me, here alone.
Alone with the people
Lying here at rest.
Looking at the church steeple
I see the moon
Looking back at me.
A full moon
To light my path.
As I walk through graves
Counting years doing the math.
I wonder if my fear is real.
And why am I afraid?
I’m not here to vandalize or steal.
Yet I’m not afraid of cops.
My fear is for what is here.
What is here? I stop.
To listen. Listen For what?
I’m not sure.
Maybe Death.
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