A step out from the grave.

It was pain disguised in vain,
as I rise from my grave.
It was cold, life was on hold,
but, in that coffin I'm still that hundred year old.

As I rise I become young
and get over being feeble and have some fun.
As I get out from my cemetery,
I see white ghost counting from one to three.

The smell of ash is in the air,
but that scent is getting on my hair.

As I walk into the city,
the city I called mine,
the fog is getting witty and increasing with every line.

That night as you can imagine,
freezing cold, smell of charcoal and the darkness with no end.
As I walk with many thoughts,
I felt I had pain enough to lend.

My dress is a faded white disgraced,
something happened to my pretty face,
my heart is set ablaze,
my tears go waste.
`
"This city was mine", I cried,
Now it's like cheap wine.
I gave my city my full glare,
I knew something happened when I was not there.

I walked and walked and walked and walked walked,
until I did halt and realised,
this just ain't mine.
I took a step back and followed the track
and realised that for all these years it was respect for the grave I lacked.

Now, dead is fine for me,
it's who I'm supposed to be.
After all it sets me free.

I walked with full speed,
now I know death is something I need.
I enter the grave with my head with no rage.
I close the coffin door,
I want nothing no more,
all my wound are no more sour.
My soul can finally rest in peace back,
that in these twenty minutes it lacked.

(Picture taken from the net)