This quiet, snowed-in cemetary,
hides cold, unmoving lips,
that still die to utter a few 'Goodbye's.
Gentle words to comfort the hopeless,
are lost among the blasting silence,
that falls short upon deafened ears.
The wind weaves through the branches;
a morse code for the unheard,
to tell their twisted, knowing tales.
Do not become another ignorant life!
Walk among those whispered screams,
and listen to the stories of the dead.
~Andrea~ |