Necropolis

A sonnet.

Tomb with covered niche and planter with garland in Pompeii necropolis, watercolour painting by Luigi Bazzani (1836-1927). Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Necropolis

The vultures leave no shadows on the place;
   The jackals do not tread within its bounds.
   It is a place free of all human sounds
Though all inhabitants are of that race.
It served a city as a burial place —
   A labyrinth of tombs and burial mounds —
   Which had been treated once as sacred grounds
Where common folk would rarely dare to pace.

No living soul now dares disturb its dust:
   It truly is a city of the dead.
   Inscriptions on the stones remain unread;
No living eye admires the ruler’s bust.
   The winds alone caress the lifeless stones
   And whisper wordless prayers for buried bones.

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© Metrical Poet 2026.