The crows rested in the trees;
for the killing was all done and they
Their caws as they conversed,
sounded like laughter to my ear;
as if the murders they had committed
had been all in good fun.
The wind whistled in the trees
and nudged the dead leaves
to life across the road.
Brown and gold skittered like roaches
and hopped like bulbous toads
traveling in a disorganized parade
for the dead.
The bright moon held no warmth
for it worked with the cold wind
and played through the trees to
cast pale blue shadows upon me.
Figures of dark demons, witches, and imps
danced in front and behind as I softly crept
lest they hear me trespass in their day they
called night as they played.
My step quickened as the wind seemed to thicken
and pushed at me like a hand on my back.
I grabbed myself against the chill which
ran deeper than it should this fall night.
This hallowed eve, it seemed, held more magic than ages
past, more power, more darkness than the last.
An ancient magic flew on a mystic wind
That brought to my soul a feeling of dread and
memories of evils best left long gone and dead.
The night entreated and beckoned
me to come and walk off the path I was on,
to follow the dead parade as it marched on.
Perhaps I could join in the fun
and dance with the minions
of the night who ate and drank of sweet
things they called treats.
They grinned at me from out of the dark,
but I saw the trick in their eyes
as they wiped the blood from their lips
I would not be fooled
So I ran,
faster than the wind could find me,
Faster, faster, faster I ran.
until I reached my hallowed home.
and clicked the lock shut tight.
The night retreats.
by Philip Wardlow