MIDNIGHT


Silent shadows sweep,
Subtly crawling like the Serpent,
Slimy creature that tempted Eve.

Blue moon, smirking o'er the woeful trees,
Casts a black-hearted spell
On the dead nocturnal stretch of air.

Cold, cutting wind exhales its sins,
Wearing down the moss-guarded tombs,
Drab, austere, and grim.

No sound penetrates dense marsh land,
Preferring to keep to itself,
Never see, touch, feel the wind's icy breath.

Metaphysical, heinous spirits
Roam cemetery's plot of villanous hate,
Generations of bequeathed detest.