NECROPOLIS

Guarded by unyielding walls
Entrance through the Gothic gate.
“Rest In Peace”, the vulture calls
In this ‘Haven of the Late’.

Four ‘n half yards underfoot
Breathes a seething thirst to quench.
Swerving up the air as soot
Rises up a rancid stench.

Restless in the black casket
Sleeps a fire, raging red.
Where with hell the evil mate
Emerges the living dead.

Labored sobs and screaming pain
In mournful, heavy air.
Trickles down a slow disdain
Loses path a prayer.

Tomb and moonlight kept apart,
The unborn cries hoarse.
Dagger sprouting off its heart
A sublime hatred grows.

Burning vengeance, rotting flesh
The fading crescent dwarfs.
Dried blood in deep caress
With desecrated corpse.

Hooting owls ‘n hanging bats
Wait drooling for a feast.
In defiance, the gnawing rats
Defaces the deceased.

En masse nocturnals celebrate
The daylight kingdom sleeps.
Dawn in waiting hesitate
The Necropolis lives.