by Andrea Jones
First letter of the lines. Halloween.
|Halloween is that time of year,
A holiday season of the dead,
Little children are not scared,
Laughing as they pass,
Only to be met with sweets,
Which they eat happily,
Everyone enjoying the season,
Everywhere people are happy,
Nightmares roam the streets.
It's not real,
Come and gather beneath the moon's light,
Older children scare eachother with stories,
Many people pretend not to be home,
In the hopes that children pass by them,
Now you are not scared of,
It's just a holiday.
Over on the hill it cries,
People look, there is a wolf,
Eyes full of hunger.
You thought this holiday is just some fun,
Or just some tales whispered through time,
Understand that Halloween is not this at all
Arms appear from manholes,
Reaching upwards they come in number,
Each one more digusting than the last.
Real or fake?
As they bathe in blood,
Death teaches that,
You were mistaken.