The noise, the chatter,

It overwhelms me;  

My own thoughts are deafening

Making me feel claustrophobic within the space of my mind.

The iron gates feel like ice under my touch,

They groan and squeak as I push my way in,

Into my space – the place;

The silence within the graveyard washes over me like a wave creeping onto the seashore.

The only sign of life in this place are the crows laughing,

Their glossy black feathers shimmer in the sunlight

As they hop from tombstone to tombstone.

I sit on top of a lonely tombstone,

A curtain has been drawn shut in my mind;

The noise just disappears.

In this place, they say that the dead don’t speak;

But, I have seen otherwise.

Here, there is no silence amongst the dead,

If you listen long enough, you can hear them whispering

In the gentle breeze that blows through the rustling leaves,

These forgotten spirits voice their pain, heartache, and the true history of what has passed.

If you look long enough, you can see them

Walking amongst the living, like I see you;

But they’re not the only thing to haunt these hallowed grounds.

Other creatures walk here on this sacred land, but it doesn’t bother me.

This is my place,

My place with the dead;

My place of inner peace.