Border Lands
by Tabatha Calkins

The rolling fog settles it's self
with the crisp cool air that follows
it's a graveyard
but some how at ease
with all the fallen long since gone
leaving this place hollow

their light whispers can be heard
over the hills, across the land
not cursing it but enchanting
making the grounds a haven for wayward souls
this is where history speaks
Here is were past meets present.