The Holy - Day

The end of the Holy - Day draws near
The saints gather for on last cheer
Raoring with gaiety, laughter
celebrating the bountiful harvest

I too clamber out of my grave
brushing away the cobwebs of illusion
struggling to see in the blinding light
6 feet under, 28 days is a long time away from the sun

Then I remembered

Why had i chosen
to lark in the playground
on the borders of the cemetery
Did I think that I could resist the crypt lord
and its minions?

Now I'm triumphant
the cobwebs oh so beautiful, intricate
have lost their charm
clinging persistently
but eventually shrugged off.
Risen from the dead
I hear the call of the saints
the whistle and cheers of angels
on this Holy - Day

Yet, Stupid to think the day is won
When the Holy - Day is nearly gone