LOST - Whispering Behind the Tombstones

The old rusty gate,
a door to the last resting place

Leafs fall from the trees,
down to the bleak burial ground

Branches cast shadows over the grey tombs,
a eerie galanty show of death

corroded and aged by mournful times,
the illegible letters on the gravestones

I walk between the places of forgotten periods,
as dismal thoughts of decease haunt me

In the deathlike silence I hear whispering voices,
telling funereal stories from elder times