The Graveyard - A poem

As dusk begins to fall,
Over the head stones tonight,
The ground will break open,
And reveal quite a sight.

The endless, silent grey clouds,
Begin to cover the glowing moon.
The buried graves of the dead,
Move and sway and then swoon.

Now here comes the Skeletons,
From the quiet city of France.
They bring with them humor,
They bring with them dance.

The ghosts of our Ancestors,
Who seem to chuckle and titter.
They dance and run and are free.
They laugh and are no longer bitter.

The mausoleum begins to open,
To let free and let go the dead.
Mothers, Fathers, the rich and the poor,
Some without limbs, some without heads.

Skeletons crawl and grab at the ground,
Pulling themselves from the grime and dirt.
Tattered clothing hangs from their bones,
Old boots and pants and ripped skirts.

Some cannot see for their eyes are gone,
Yet the party tonight’s a sight to behold.
Some cannot cry for their voices are shattered,
Yet some weep and they scream in the cold.

Tonight is the party in which the dead meet,
They dance and they sing and they weep.
Tonight is the celebration of what once was,
They pull off the shadow that death tries to keep.

There are soldiers from war with wounds in their backs,
And woman whose lives were taken by force.
There are children who laugh like they’re still alive,
And others whose fates were much worse.

They dance to their death and their bones,
While over them gloom surely creeps.
And soon there will be more members to dance,
As the Grim begins to hunt and to reap.

But soon the night will fade to light,
And the dead must hide and go away.
For like life, night will not last forever,
It soon fades and turns into day.

When the celebration is finally over,
The Skeletons and the dead go back to sleep.
They wait silently for the next party,
In their graves which are rocky and steep.