As the Sun rose from His slumber,
She began to stir
in her little house of wood,
a coffin just for her.

Each day,
she hears them scrape
away the earth with shovels,
waiting until
her final bed is done
forever for her to lay.

In the morning,
she awakes,
dead to others
yet alive in her dreams,
to the sound of falling stones
as they cover her coffin.

And, as the final stone fell,
she said a silent prayer, asking for
sweet dreams for her to keep.

And as the earth lay there,
the mound dug in the graveyard.
The crows said their goodbyes,
and she waited for


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reflect. (joined over 10 years ago)
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Creative Commons AttributionNonCommerical 3.0


Horror poem


She woke up every morning to the sound of falling stones.
Prompt suggested by lrig.rorrim


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