11/01/2024
In shadows deep and moonlight's chill,
The witching hour grows darker still.
Creaking doors and whispers low,
A haunted wind begins to blow.
The witches cackle, cloaked and veiled, With skin so pale and nails that's trailed In whispers dark as midnight's spell-
A glance from them, you're marked as well.
Along the streets in eerie light,
Children roam the dead of night.
Their faces hidden, masks in place, Each one a shadowed, hollow face.
And still the trick-or-treaters come,
Knocking on doors, some silent, some numb.
With bags held wide and voices small, They seek their treats, but dread it all.
Through twisted trees and graves below,
Ghosts in silken shrouds move slow.
They drift like mist, a sight unseen,
A shiver on this Halloween.
For who knows when, or why, or how,
A shadow moves just near them now.
A spirit glides, a cold embrace,
A phantom hand, a lifeless face.
The ghouls emerge from crypts and clay, From hollow places where shadows play.
Their eyes like embers, red and bright,
They stalk the streets in search of fright.
So heed this night, beware, beware,
For when you walk, there's something there—
Not all in costume, not all in jest,
The dead and dark join in this fest.
Halloween calls, the spirits wake,
The living tremble, the shadows quake.
In every whisper, every moan,
A warning: you are not alone.
Author FB