Creative Writing, OldVenue

The Cemetery Cat

The grass was cut, the hedge was chopped,

The gardener headed home,

The sun had stopped,

Already clocked off,

And the cat was left alone.

By Gravestones steep, and tall, profound,

The cat watched through the gate,

The slippery ground

Kissed embossed stone,

As fingernails on slate.

As a padlock slammed the steel gates firm

The bitter clouds withdrew,

The cat, so stern,

Had hell to burn,

And this was nothing new.

The gardener gone, the cat was set,

With sinful black eyes bright,

To decide, to reflect

Which spot to select;

Which corpse should rise tonight.

The lightning struck the fated tomb,

It disintegrated, earthy flesh

In darkness loomed,

It’s black blood oozed,

All undead afresh!

The cat was proud, it laughed aloud,

Its creation quite complete,

With the night its shroud,

To the cat the corpse bowed,

And trailed forward on its feet.

The grass was black, the hedge lay waste,

The night air reeked of death,

The cat left the corpse

Without remorse,

While he went home to bed.


About Author