'The Mutiny of the Dead' by Adeosun Pelum

The wilted branch of the willow treeDrooped, touching her headstone with its tender fingers,The browning grasses and the primroses stood likeA thousand soldiers, ever watchful and protective of her realm,They were her friends and her only companions

The muffled silence and the mournful wails of the windWere the only voice she’s ever heardAnd she loved listening to them too

The flapping wings of the raven,Ruffling the slumbering atmosphere,Announced his presence as he gave raucous caw;A greeting no one else understood but herAnd she would respond with a well meaning silence

She seemed to give a knowing smileAs the raven perched on her headstone,Stirring the still flowers with a gentle draft of windFrom his ominously dark and ethereal wings.

He is her friend too;Her only living friend in fleshYet, like her, he is unwelcome in the land of the living where he dwells

News from the land beyond, he always bringAnd she would listened so aptlyThat even her quietness rivals that of the gloomy silence

Today, he brought her a joyous tale;Of the carnage behind the mortal veilAnd from it, she knew it’s already begun;The mutiny of the dead.

She knew what must be doneSoon, others like her would seek refugeIn the voluminous bowels of the caring mother, earthAnd she would welcome them with a regal smile of a queen, which she is.

She would show them love andgive them the unrestrained attention denied them by the living,She would listen to their troubles and calm themWith soothing tales of hers

She would tell the tale of the beautiful moonlight,Whose pale and innocent looks calms the mind of the troubledAnd she would tell that of the sun,Whose radiance warms the earth,Beneath which they lay

Then she would conclude itWith a tale of her own;Of how she was stabbed by a lover’s handOn the night of her marriage to her betrothed.

And she would round it up with the declarationOf her passionate and hateful devotionTo the end of humanity