The Graveyard

Cold hard stones mark the final homes

Where kings and beggars share the same thrones

Six feet under

And safe from rain and thunder.

Cadavers galore lie in their final goodbye

With nothing but worms at their sides.

Once calcified but turned to dust

With gold and silver left to rust

These old bones lie in silent wait

For that sought after day of eight

When the sky will open and we'll all see

Death in bondage or liberty.

Author's Note

what do you think?

Reviews

[Siren]

day of eight is a literal translation of aujourd'huit, which is french for today.

[eatmills]

Siren, I like it. I really would love to hear what influenced you to write "day of eight" besides that it eight rhymes with wait.