Talk In The Air Poem by Sheena Blackhall

A graveyard is dangerous—
If you go in, whispers may reach your ears
Of things that have happened
Before, to the dead and their mourners
Every time you enter, the sleepers will waken
Hoping you've come for them
Farmers and bankers,
Widows and children

Lie arrested in time.
Are you come to visit me?
Am I missed? Am I forgotten?
They seem to say

The graveyard is a library of stories
Held under its ceiling of soil, its thatch of grass
The library is dangerous,
It wants to suck you in

Ignore its whispers hanging in the air
Soon enough you'll be one of the whisperers