THE ALLURE

By Dorit D'Scarlett (Dark Poets Prize III Winner)

I do not fear the bones beneath,

the quiet halls of soil and stone,

where silence hums like a lullaby

and time forgets to move.

Marble angels, weeping blind,

lean close with lips unspoken.

Names are worn to whispers,

erased by rain and reverence.

I press my fingers to cold epitaphs,

tracing the weight of a life undone,

wondering if they felt it—

the moment breath became absence,

the instant light became nothing.

Not fear, not sorrow—

but the pull of knowing,

the hush of inevitability.

What is it like to slip away?

To let the world dissolve behind you,

to drift in the arms of something vast,

to be unburdened by the body?

I do not fear the bones beneath.

I only wish they could speak.

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