the Silent Sepulcher

The Silent Sepulcher

In the vale where shadows creep,
Where endless silence veils the deep,
There lies a tomb, untouched by light,
Swallowed whole by eternal night.

The marble cold, the ivy twined,
The dead within, forever blind.
No breath escapes the crypt below,
Where secrets only phantoms know.

Upon the stone, in fading script,
A name that time’s cruel hand has stripped.
Forgotten now, both dust and bone,
A soul that wanders all alone.

I felt the chill of ancient dread,
As if the tomb itself had bled—
A whisper faint, a distant call,
That echoed through the burial hall.

Was it a plea, a ghostly tear,
That beckoned me to draw so near?
Or was it merely death’s own sigh,
That stirred the winds as I passed by?

But in that place, where light is lost,
I knew the grave held not the cost—
For what we bury never dies,
It lingers still, beneath the skies.

And so I turned, away from doom,
From that forsaken, silent tomb.
Yet still I hear, in dreams of night,
The restless whispers out of sight.