grave yard

I love the smell of graveyards,
Every corpse has its own peculiar scent,
A distinguishing mark, a fingerprint if you like,
That separates the guilty from the innocent.

Do not fear that which lies beneath your feet,
They sleep soundly... only their epitaphs moan,
Words that cry upon the shoulders of their readers,
A comfort to those still here from those passed on.

A ghostly mist that swirls through the tombstones,
Silently crawling like a rallying of lost souls,
Is protesting against the influx of procession,
As mourners come to fill another hole.

Veiled tears of grief, sobbing their lament,
For another loved one taken in their prime,
The weeping willow hails the flowery aroma,
In a sickly sweet memorial to the dying.

Step forward, let us move a little closer,
There is a little secret, I'd like for you to learn,
It will put your mind at rest and ease your sorrow,
I really think it merits your concern.

I tended to this grave only this morning,
It was I who dug the hole that holds the sin,
Look closely at the words engraved in granite,
It's no coincidence that they spell out your name.

Take my boney hand, I'll pay the ferryman,
A penny for each eye shall ride the waves,
And as you lie inside the vessel that will take you,
I shall wallow in the scent that is your grave.