Wraith

 

We all reach that point in life

Where Halloween holds no magic

The ragged clothes and haggard looks

The pale of face and wrinkled mask

The wild unkempt hair of cobwebs

The brittle touch of ancient hand

 

The racing heartbeat

Pounding out its horror rhythm

The nervous look into dark corners

Death waiting across the grey veil

A cold sweat and night chills

Crawling creeping crying chaos

 

All Hallows Eve is not a time for trick or treat

When there are other wraiths

Clutching at the edges of reality

And all the little demons

Running through deserted streets

Are nuisance and nothing more

 

So - we all reach that point in life

Where Halloween holds no magic

Where every day is a faltering step

Towards an open grave

And there are horrors in the present

That far outweigh awaiting rest