Catacombs

Catacombs

We walk through chambers cold and dark
like children of the dead.
Death appears and leaves his mark
upon our weary head.

We live in fear as sounds grow near
the tombs are seeping red;
then see their shapes and shed a tear
as corpses slowly tread.

Terror chills these halls we roam,
no words are ever said,
and ghosts that haunt the catacombs
have eyes so cold and dead.


T.L. Finch