The Witch of Halloween

Underneath below the pale faced moon,
far beyond the sun at noon,
creeping in the darkness soon,
the witch of Halloween.
Her footfalls near a lonely grave,
entombed a common lowlife knave,
now just bones that none could save,
will live on Halloween.

Her bones creak, her skin it tore,
nails grow into a claw,
oozing blood from flesh that's raw,
this dark All Hallows Eve.
She casts a spell upon the earth,
the skeletons unnatural birth,
a ghastly sound betrays her mirth,
this dark All Hallows Eve.

Grey rotting skin and sunken chest,
craving, hunger, cannot rest,
fresh from a tomb that evil blessed,
on All Saints Eve shall rise.
Black cat slinks, wears down its prey,
long since left the bright of day,
claws sink deep where life can't stay,
on All Saints Eve shall rise.

As the bell tolls I would implore,
stay inside behind locked door,
come they through the fields and moor,
the hordes of Halloween.
Fleeting on the steps they tread,
fills your countenance with dread,
devour their victims feet to head,
the hordes of Halloween.

A troupe upon the cobbled street,
the witch and her minions meet,
devoid of mind and bare of feet,
a grisly feast by moonlight.
Blood dripping from tooth and fang,
lifeless now the body swang,
taunting victory cries now rang,
a grisly feast by moonlight.

Come the mornings soft blue light,
the hordes have left and taken flight,
could only last one dreaded night,
a tranquil sun will rise.
Morning earth its darkness sheds,
back into their wooden beds,
beneath the soil rest their heads,
a tranquil sun will rise.

Frozen Ghost

Lonely ghost drifts through the house,

scares a cat, freezes a mouse.

Boney fingers scrape the wall,

ice appears right down the hall.

Rotten flesh hangs down from bone,

from her mouth a piercing moan.

One lady frozen on a stair,

missing heart and half her hair.

Like time has stopped for ever more,

her blood it never reached the floor.

A gruesome pose, the sculpture still,

through the house a deathly chill.

Down the garden path it goes,

flowers turn away and close.

The midnight hour all but lost,

back to its earthly grave of frost.

To France

If I could find someone new,

then France or somewhere would do,

I'd give up my life,

with the trouble and strife

and move overseas to you.

I know that my chances are slim,

as my bright idea goes dim,

so I'm stuck where i am

and I don't give a damn

but I'd go on a dare or a whim.