Haunted by prior memories…

Family vaults are scattered around the grassy field,
With the body of souls buried beneath.
The wall of cracked gravestones stares at me
While the Iron Gate surrounds me,
engulfing me with a sense of security.

Sunlight protrudes through the wispy clouds,
sneaking over the Live Oak that looms over me
With Spanish moss draped above.

Whistling wind tears leaves off the trees
With the sound of leaves cracking
as people stomp all over them
mixed with impatient drivers honking
their car horns echoing off the cemetery’s granite walls.

Do the spirits know I am here?

When was the last time someone visited
these dead bodies?
Why wouldn’t the family have their loved ones
name on their gravestone?

Mourning for the lives lost, gloom and sadness
saturate my body as horror attacks my soul.

Am I being followed?
Am I being followed?
Am I being followed?