The Darkest Halloween
Under cloak of a midnight sky,
on Halloween, the moon was full.
An eerie sight there caught my eye,
I viewed his body being pulled.
The dirt unearthed was moist and fresh,
once the grave where he'd been placed.
A man of forty, so I'd guessed,
I could, just barely, see his face.
When I moved in closer still,
five tombstones soon surrounded me
and chanting in the night air filled
the prophesies of mystery.
On this day so prophesied,
chanting of a thousand witches
would raise the dead from all the tombs,
all the morgues and crypts and ditches.
At the stroke of twelve, or so,
while stirring fast strange witches brew,
their voices filled the midnight hour
and chanted 'til the stroke of two.
Potions, cauldrons, signs of death,
raised my hair, as I held my breath.
"Ravens, Banshees, Owls and Trolls,
raise the bones of forty souls."
Witches moved to form an arc
and in the center placed the man,
then dripped the blood of forty larks
that severed both his lifeless hands.
When the chanting nearly ceased
his hands began to fly like bats
and to the air white doves released,
soon followed by black howling cats.
Beyond fear I was a wreck.
I told my feet to pick up steam,
but one hand grabbed me 'round the neck
on this the darkest Halloween.
So, next time as you walk alone,
in the dark, on a moonlit night,
remember the rest of his bones,
are out there to fill you with fright.
The witches "sign of the five,"
are points of a star bringing death.
At this moment you're still alive,
while I am still catching my breath.
Each Halloween, at midnight,
his body still roams, that's no joke.
His hands are still able to fly,
and next time they'll fly at your throat.
Vote for this poem
|Please Comment On This Poem