Midnight Creed

The dark, desolate grave Halts me with hesitation. I stare a distant gaze And begin with speculation. I cringe at the howls that press against the trees. The smell of moist soil, deep and hollow, Sounds of a startled whisper. Wilted, wrinkled roses among the chilling breeze, I make my way through the fallen sorrow Pain of an open blister. Love has long ended. The flowers unkempt, yet tended. Black, slow, and bleak. Weary, sad, and weak. Ants and critters scurrying to a dark haven. Slight shudder of a common creep Left to decay. The presence of an old, ominous raven. Arms crossed in a peaceful sleep I lay.