Highgate

The green and golden hills
Are swarming
An army in ivy

And lichen
Crawls over the monolithic tombstones
Searching for a doorway, an entry

To the sweet damp dark
Below, where the dead beings go
To sleep and await angelic lyres

Tall and majestic iron
Pillars topped with spires
Stretch for miles with a message

Dead in, living out
But they come in droves to goggle
These mouth breathing maggot sacks walking

Trampling the emerald carpet
That snakes its' way between skeletons nimbly
It springs back up patiently

And I
By the graceful light of her majesty the moon
Pick through their detrius

In this Victorian darkness
Where spirits laugh and cajole one another
Amid their babbling brook chatter

I spin, a ballerina
In the all ensconcing blackness
Flowers long dead underfoot

I remove my shoes
To feel the memory of ghostly petals
Tickling my paper skin

In this
The burial ground of ages
A resting place for our kin