THE GRAVEYARD

The graveyard 

I walk slowly in a place I belong not
I hear the whistling of an owl
It goes deep in my head as I walk

I wonder in a lonely path
A path I belong not
An odd place to be, it occur to me

I blurt out;
Why am I here?
I belong not here

My fear grows older gradually
The tombs seem staring at me
I murmur; they must have heard me

I glance around in silence
My fear reaches is climax
Silence speaks louder now

This is not the best place to be
But certainly the right place to be when gone
This will be my end home, I say

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