Morose

A land,
Fertile with graves,
Where they stand,
Cloaked figures,
Swords, spades or shovels?
What are those?
Digging the earth,
Bodies of the past,
Stacking them,
Those dead piles of dirt,
From which no plant grows,
No life flows,
Eternally dull,
And null shall they be,
Infertile never meeting star dust!

Thoughtful darkness

When the lights go out;
Dust settles down
Darkness is everywhere,
East, west, north and south,
You wait and watch for the sun to come out,
Till you realize,
In darkness is freedom,
The kaleidoscope of thoughts, desires;
And things that can never be screamed out loud!