The Midnight Hour

The Midnight Hour


I walked through night, black and cold,
with nary a care for the stories of old.

Children pass by in search of treats.
All manner of ghouls, goblins and beasts.

My path turned away, through a gate I walked.
White stones, broken teeth, this place children balked.

Somewhere a bell began to toll.
Counting the strikes the sound, it rolled,

out over the yard. A funereal sound.
A mournful tone. As I walked I found

though most nights I liked the quiet, dark night.
This night, strangely, my senses were tight.

Wound up, on edge, this Hallowe'en night,
I walked through the graveyard devoid of light.

My thoughts turned dark, imagining ghosts
in the dancing shadows- my spectral hosts.

To my right! Yes, there! That shadow must be
the ghost of John Tucker pursuing me.

On my left! Right here! This one for sure!
The shade of Aunt Tessie, still searching for the cure.

Ahead! Just there! That lurking dark!
It reached out for me, my terror grew stark.

As the shadows closed round, with my heart beating fast,
my breathing grew quick in the spell the yard cast.

The trees, with no leaves, clawed at the clouds.
Wind whipped furiously, Moon's burial shrouds.

The bell tolled on, striking tone after tone.
The spectres reached for me, then, suddenly, I was alone.

The bell fell silent, it's last note struck.
The yard grew still as I thanked my luck.

When the bell fell quiet, up there in it's tower,
it sent ghosts to their graves in the midnight hour.