Under the gaze trespassing the past.

Encroach not

on the cockroach passing

that scatters amongst

the tombstone's dead

for they entertain

the moment of

shadows past.

But heed not

for I was walking

in the presence

of the dead,

exiled and buried;

littered and dressed

by golds and reds.

However I heard nothing,

but church bell chimes

for I was now the ghost

that walked on the winds of change

as I scurried with my friends,

while the churchyard yawns.