Cold Cemetery Nights (microfiction)

Out here in the cold cemetery nights, the greenish-blue tint of my death fantasies come alive. I’m not much a fan of the waking hours; the dead are more on my level, the way they hold nothing back when they speak to me and tell me of their underground dreams and experiences. I think it was my father who said, when I was just a young boy, that, “The dead hold secrets the living can learn from, if only we listen to the whispers of the night.”

Cold cemetery nights, not such a fright to me. Others have rebuked me for my twilight walks, stalking among the graves, but I ignore them. The gravedigger works overtime every night; I’m not sure if he’s dead or alive. I see him digging these deep holes most nights, allowing the souls to re-enter the world. The gravedigger’s name is Cain – he has the brightest blue eyes, a slim yet muscular frame, and hands so calloused they bleed every night.

Continue reading

Cemetery Tourism in Middle Tennessee (photos)

It’s become a tradition for Rachel and I to check out historic cemeteries whenever we go on trips. I’ve shared plenty of cemetery photos before, and after this trip to Middle Tennessee, I have more to share!

Continue reading

Red Eyes (a poem)

Cemeteries only frighten me in daytime
When gravediggers drop fresh corpses
Below the dirt, with the worms

The gravediggers are you and I
We’ve been doing this all day
In sticky summer heat
Sweat dripping into red eyes

Continue reading