I am drawn to this place,
Where eternal rest finds a home.
Grass littered with fallen leaves,
Nourished by the flesh of ages.
How now does each twisting tree grow,
While roots twine themselves among the dead.
My peace lies here between tombstone,
Among a gentle breeze that stirs thoughts.
How I wish my own soul could be content,
And find itself among these silent rows.
But I am cursed for a time,
To walk among these mortal bodies.
Witnessing the blessing of death,
For a millennia or more.
A life sentence that will span,
From one broken world to the next.
Forever to be cursed upon four paws,
And coat as black as pitch.
-M.E. InkOwl
The Ink Owl 