Iris Lynn

Whispers Beneath The Veil

In twilight’s hush, the crows take flight,

Their wings like ink on fading light.

A chapel moans with wind’s lament,

Where tombstones lean, long dreams unspent.

 

The roses bleed in moonlit gloom,

Each petal mourning from the tomb.

A shadow stirs with silent breath.

The velvet touch of gentle Death.

 

He walks not cruel, but calm, austere,

A lullaby for those who fear.

And in his arms, the weary rest.

A final kiss, forever blessed.