GHOSTS IN THE GRAVEYARD
Tombstones
by
Kym Angelee Montoya
My breath frezzes in the
chilly hours of the morning.
The crisp cold makes my bones ache.
The white stones glow in the pre-dawn light.
My feet wander amoung the headstones
of those who have gone before.
All the things we love and cherish
like ourselves must fade and perish
GALLERY 1
GALLERY 2
GALLERY 3
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