Sunday, 16 October 2016

On Hallows' Eve | A Horror Poem by Michael Whitehouse

Each Halloween, 
as the leaves start to fall. 
Treats laid out sweetly, 
for the tricksters who call. 

That long lonely night,
where the dead rise once more;
something warped, twisted,
creeps close to your door.

And on Hallows' Eve,
should you pass glowing eyes,
or a candlelit grin
'neath black darkened skies 

Walk on weary traveller,
to another path tread,
for a vile vengeful spirit
might just take your head.

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