Midnight Stroll Through the Necropolis

As the clock strikes midnight,
I set out on my way
To the old, forgotten necropolis,
Where the dead lie in decay.

The moon is but a sliver,
Hanging low in the sky,
As I wander among the graves,
Where the tombstones loom on high.

The wind is but a whisper,
Moaning through the ancient trees,
As if to foretell the sorrow
That forevermore will be.

I cannot help but shiver
As I walk this lonely path,
For I feel the ghosts of the dead
All around me, in their wrath.

And yet, despite the fear,
I cannot help but feel
A sense of peace in this place,
Where death is all that's real.

For in the end, we all must go
To the great unknown,
Where death is but a passage
To a world where we're not alone.