At The Terminus

Here I see a hundred moss grown graves There is a mournful silence that deepens Through the weed grown path, no traveller walks The place, some morbid warning portends Hush.... hush is this place, here no bird sings The wind here sighs in silent pain There is a muffled horror all around the place Even the leaves chant a sad refrain Here, Death sits on his imperial throne Mocking at the relics of human glory Zealous with the task of deleting the old To script a new chapter, a new story With a heavy heart I stand beside these wrecks Thinking I too shall lie here, devoid of all opulence Leaving all my hard earned possessions behind Without a trace, forgotten by the populace Vacancy alone greets my pensive eyes Each life here is a volume closed down, To be cast aside and eventually forgotten, Or erased forever with no name or renown