Graveyards at night.
A place of solitude.
A place of fright.

Hidden behind a headstone
Hidden from the world
Just me, here alone.

Alone with the people
Lying here at rest.
Looking at the church steeple

I see the moon
Looking back at me.
A full moon

To light my path.
As I walk through graves
Counting years doing the math.

I wonder if my fear is real.
And why am I afraid?
I'm not here to vandalize or steal.

Yet I'm not afraid of cops.
My fear is for what is here.
What is here? I stop.

To listen. Listen For what?
I'm not sure.
Maybe Death.