Cemetary Of Fernandina Poem by chris bowen

in the cemetary of fernandina, there are ghosts centuries old.the hand of time struck down few more than the attrocious who live here.baldwin and cemetary's like dont carry the names of the forgotten few who dwell in a hell called bosque bello.the infinite do go on, rotten, but assured.the night is led by the moon, and the cold hand behind you as you walk is feeling you out, to see, to see if you can stand the hand of the dead.do not go out late at night in fernandina, the witches will see and soon appear, and the devils hand, the ghosts of bosque bello, follow you home, to terrifying screams you can hear.the bump in the night is them.the face in the screen of your window at 2: 00 am is real.beast, scream, i feel your breathe and your voice trembles the airwaves.what do you say? 'i hate you.'