Under This Cloud

Cloud dripping wet, cobble stones beneath my feet
creak with eerie sounds.
Old names crossed on old woodstone graves, remembering life
once more.

Under this cloud, touching such old stones
upon a man's beard whispering his last word.
Crossing my mind dark spirits appear
creeped out by watery spirits smoke ascends
onto olden stones.

Walking around someone's grave, we left with no grace
with fright sought eyes we teared as we climbed over the ladder
and wails of forgotten yesterdays screamed in our ears.
Come back, come back youth - it was stolen from us
in our town in Italy
where secrets came to lie beneath such hollowed stones.

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This Poems Story

I was in Italy, and we snuck into a cemetary late at night with my cousins. We walked around for 10 to 15 minutes, got creeped out and then left. It was an adventure for sure.