Under a corpse-fire moon,
In this gravestone hamlet,
I stand guard,
Ever vigilant,
Billhook clasped in putrid claws,
Eye sockets scanning for graverobbers,
I know not why,
My senses rotted many lifetimes ago,
Outside a mausoleum with a faded name,
I too have no name,
A puppet on undertaker strings,
Raised for one purpose,
A corpse amended as an abominable statue,
I am to simply guard this place,
Until the red sky wakes,
And these bones are finally consumed.
WorldofHarley 
Beautifully penned. I love all the lines in their vividness. My favorite, is the first two lines. You had my attention at “corpse-fire moon…” Great work.
Thank you so much! 😊
The Oldschool Harlequin
Always a pleasure, my friend👍😊