Halloween poem

 

When careless evil

in the minds of men

harpoons any good,

the women

are beaten

the children

are strewn

like moss

upon the earth

unrooted

detached,

a life without

the living

souls transformed

to ghosts.

 

Inner monsters lurk

around each

hallowed feast

intent on burial

of wisdom into

the deep.

Blindness oversees

the impulse to

paint trillium

in the woods,

no light to

waken the

path we need

to walk.

 

If ever the

heart could

capture the

arrow that

makes it bleed,

perhaps the

wooded path

would lead us

home someday.

Good night,

good night,

my humans –

our stay here

was so brief.

The evil

in men’s hearts

rocks us all

to sleep.