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The dead are restless
Behind the steel grey gates
Left too long
Neglected and alone
They turn in their graves
Finding no comfort or sleep
And when they dream
It is dark, it is cold
It is deep

Their ghosts might whisper
If you pass this shadowed way
If you might hear them
And have something to say
I guess they’re just lonely
In just the company of shades
A dark procession
Black celebrations
Death’s parade

This inky night I sense them
On a merciless wind
Crying and forgotten
As the living pass by
You can’t really blame us
They’re broken and gone
No hope and no dream
No star to wish upon

(c) Helen M Valentina 2017