Midnight Conversations

I stood outside with hands in pockets,

feeling the weight of those names,

etched but not forgotten, their shadows like specters

as the moon whispers secrets, cold bones in the frame.

We walked in silence, a soft rustle of leaves,

each headstone a story, alive in the dark,

a friend beside me, unraveling her grief,

in the chill of the night, igniting a spark.

Stars twinkle like eyes, observing our plight,

carving out moments in twilight’s embrace.

In the quiet, we linger, beneath fading light,

the past intertwining with each sorrowed trace.