ALONE IN A CEMETERY
The wind whispers.
The trees sway.
Air hisses through the leaves.
Shadows lurk between gravestones.
With long robes, they sweep toward me.
A statue looms in the distance.
A winged angel turns her cold face
and faces me.
A wicked grin curves her mouth.
Her wings take flight.
And so do I.
ALONE IN A CEMETERY
The mist paints a grey.
Hissing winds sound fey.
The trees sway in tune
Under the blue moon.
With long robes, they sweep toward me.
Darker shadows they cannot be.
A statue looms in the distance.
I cannot offer resistance.
An angel turns her face to me.
A wicked grin for all to see.
Her white wings spread wide.
Time for me to hide.
How sad is this statue?
Tears dripping down its body.
It sits alone in the garden.
A heart frozen to its core.
Its eyes closed in sadness.
For a savior long and gone.
It sits alone in the garden.
Waiting for help from beyond.
Tears fall ever so slowly.
Freezing close to the ground.
It sits alone in the garden.
Its silent sighs in the wind.
It bows its head in prayer.
For a savior not found.
It sits alone in the garden.
No one else around.
Walking alone in
a cemetery at night.
The mist swaying.
The wind moaning.
Shadows appearing.
Then disappearing.
Leading me somewhere.
Or maybe following me.
A statue looms ahead.
A tall statue.
Taller than the mausoleums.
It’s moving.
Coming closer.
Time to run.
Walking in a graveyard at night
may not have been such a good idea.
Ouch!
It scratched me!
Frozen in time.
Frozen in space.
Memories lost.
Lifetimes ago.
No one to hear.
No one to see.
What lies in me.
What wants to be free.
I used to walk free.
This is where I’ll be.
Alone in the night.
An unhappy sight.
Come and visit me.
I’m down by the sea.
Oasis is its name.
It has come to some fame.
For the game of The Dead
That’s played by the undead.
THE DEAD GAME
Kindle
Nook
The statue waits.
Frozen in its tears.
Standing in the cold.
Weathering all storms.
Will someone come for it?
Will it be saved?
Questions not to be answered.
Only to be thought by the dead.
Bela Lugosi recites some Poe in The Raven (1935).
The raven sits quietly while Lugosi reads the lines.
It sits as still as a lifeless statue.
But what if it isn’t lifeless?
What if it’s just waiting?
Waiting for the actor
to stop droning on.
For the room to become quiet
so that he could pounce.
The way he was supposed to
in The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe.
He must perform for his namesake.
The world could use one less actor.
Couldn’t it?
Swoosh…
TURNED TO STONE
I have turned to stone.
I’m chilled to the bone.
The coldness is spreading.
Where can this be heading?
Please help me.
You can see.
Life is at its end.
I can’t even bend.
Who’s my deadly foe?
I still need to know.
Leave me be.
You shouldn’t see
What I’ve become.
Leave and be gone.
SUSANNE LEIST 