My Tomb

As seen at Coffee House Writers

My tomb,
my one window crypt.
There, alone
it protects me,
from the horrors of the world.

I sit and stare
out of my one
window crypt.

I have seen the sunlight’s rays
illuminate the azure sky,
as the white marshmallow
clouds drifted by.

I have heard the birds warble
their love songs,
as they nestled in their nests.

I have seen the rage of the heavens
as it turned black as the midnight sky,
and the clouds turned gray.

I felt the Earth tremble
as lighting streaked the welkin.

I heard the rain beat the roof of my tomb,
like a hammer smashing a nail in a piece of wood.

I have watched as people strolled by,
whispering in each other’s ears.

But,
on occasions,
I heard them roar,
and it sent shivers down my spine.

They come from far and near
to visit loved ones lost.

But, for all the years
I have been in my tomb,
my one window crypt.
No one visited,
out of love or out of lost.

All I have known
comes on a fall night.
When the wolf howls
at the fullness of the moon.

When the veil
between the worlds
is at its thinnest.

It is then, and only then,
visitors come to seek me.

They dare each other
to peer in my tomb,
my one window crypt.

It is then,
it is there,
I reach out
to say,
“Hello.”

But they stop,
inches from my window crypt.

I banged and banged
I waved and waved
I yelled and yelled
I watched and watched
as their blood slowly drained from their faces.

They turn and run.
Leaving me,
once again,
alone in my tomb,
my one window crypt.

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