With Long Boney Fingers... 2008
The Spell of Jack O' Lantern
By Everett A Warren
With the chill of the night air
comes the fear that he shall return;
Dried corn stalks without the gleaming bones
line the paths he walks,
grinning ear to ear,
as in his heart evil wyrms churn.
Come the harvest moon and the flurry of falling leaves
comes the fear that he shall reap what we have sown;
Cried our tears and left them out to dry
up to the windowsill he stalks,
plucking them up like roasted seeds
upon which he feeds – if they please him, he shall leave us alone.
As the midnight bell tolls
over the fields he rides;
Firelight like autumn leaves flickering in his eyes,
the only warmth he'll ever show,
dancing in the darkness and blood,
as his world and ours collides.
With a creak of a door in the dark of night
comes the fear that has become real;
Soft footfalls upon the stairs,
like whispers of the ravens wing,
silencing the blood in a poor soul's veins,
quiet, now, the night, as the final bells peal.
So heed this warning, for in the waning months
comes the fear that each year he returns;
Bitter winds and silent cries
are all that he leaves behind,
fallen leaves and fallen lives
fuel the fires that, in our dreams, he burns.
Copyright © 2004 Everett A Warren