The Graveyard Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

THE GRAVEYARD

The tombstones were covered with a dense, gray fog.
A white mausoleum and a nebulous bog
Greeted my apprehensive gaze
With grim, dreadful, wayward, wanton ways,
As I proceeded down the cobblestone lane.
The cemetery was vast, and the cold, autumn rain
Pelted the grass; and the caskets below
Became soaked by the brine as a few flakes of snow
Fell upon my overcoat and my longish hair.
I thought I saw a wraith, a ghost,
Leap into the amber air
In the fit of a languorous, lewd despair.
(He was a dark and grisly host.)
"Why do you walk the land of the dead? "-
He said in way that chilled my skin.
"Do you wish to cross The Acheron in the living state you're in? "
"Yes, " I replied. "For every true bard is off his head.
And since I have had enough of the world outside,
I have changed my address. It is here I reside."
At that he left me, alone, amid the graves,
Where sobriety set in, amid the stark
Shadows of this hallowed park,
Where the boon of darkness truly saves.