On The Dawn Of The First Night

Eerily, the moon cast down its glare,
Penetrating the cold, black mist.
Like unto a razor splitting a hair,
And just as sudden the earth is kissed.

Into the graveyard the shadow crept,
Easing slowly past each pale, dark stone.
Like the creeping crawl of coming death,
Searching, searching only for its own.

Under the cold, black earth, deep within,
Inside the steel, wood, and concrete boxes.
The bones of those below are disturbed again,
Each one as touched, jerks and tosses.

Stirring as the living do, entering the unknown,
But what harm could come to ones as this, yet dead?
The somber bones cry out and moan,
“What could this be, this thing to dread?”

“What could this be to come after the bones,
The remnants of a life stripped clean.
No flesh to pierce, no soul to own,
No spirit to tempt, baffle or demean?”

The life from each has long departed,
The flesh has paid the final price.
No not a thing, is left to be regarded,
As a thing to be taken, not even a slice.








The life the joy, the sadness too,
All long, long gone, only bones remain.
Crumbled, and crumbling, laying all askew,
No power on earth to give life again.

But the shadow cast down from above,
Crept slowly on, searching, searching each one.
It penetrated the earth to the bones beneath,
Flowing through each one until it was done.

The shadow spoke not a word, as it went forth,
Made not a sound as it crept and past.
Searching each bone beneath the earth,
It searched and it searched until it has searched the last.

Then back to the sky, like a shot from a gun,
Back towards the moon, where it had once come from.
Taking nothing with it, when it was done,
Leaving all the bones wondering…..why had it come?