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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Holiday · #2236716
A long ramble through a tired pumpkin patch between the political and the personal
The Pumpkin Patch

A long year in the pumpkin patch,
a longer Halloween;
shortened days behind the latch,
the times lost inbetween

Hours lost at furloughed cost,
awaiting Christmas lights;
fairy chained, with seasons lost,
to deeper, lonely nights

Underneath marshmallow skies,
we wait for night to fall;
A deathly wreath as pumpkins rise,
awaiting darker calls

Isolated 'neath our shrouds,
behind our masks we bide;
living under broken clouds,
where broken vows reside

The mysteries such masks can keep,
how deep a heart can hide;
spent histories, with tasks too steep,
to reap the parts denied

whilst heads unfit for purpose, task,
with hearts set on a hunch;
we wonder whats behind the masks,
we've hid behind for months

A year left cold and empty... stark,
left waiting for the dance;
with seeds set out to tempt me, dark,
... they never stood a chance

We try to sing, as dark bells ring,
what days may bring... don't come;
The year, it stings, as nights draw in,
and flowers plead for sun

We try our best, we hope to find,
some substance to our dreams;
with too much going on behind,
to filter through, it seems

A realm where doubts can win the day,
dark magic swirls and dares;
where witchy woman hold their sway,
despite not being there

Flickering, the candles run,
carved hollow, our disguise;
whilst things we should've said and done,
burn brightly in our eyes

as rain droves on for miles, borne,
'midst times driven by fear;
making masks of smiles, worn,
... the best part of a year

A year that's made us stumble, fall,
fumble things we lack;
as daylight hours tumble, call,
bookmarked in the black

with tunnel vision calling, long,
clawed back, an hours light;
with autumn leaves now falling wrong,
... an end still not in sight

Pandora's box lies open, prised,
we reap the contents loosed;
tumbled locks, left broken... sized
ropes fashioned in a noose

as 'trick or treat' plays dirty... slow,
and 2-0-2-0 runs;
ghouls venal, hunt in thirties, low,
'rules six'... now 'rules of one'

Decisions mean, enacted rash,
for demographics small;
where tricks cut deep, we're bleeding cash
... a democratic fall

with treats bestowed to grasping hands,
already more than full;
twisted feats, self serving plans,
such cronyism galls

A ball laid out for Lords, played foul,
a devil's masquerade;
broken apps disguised 'neath cowls,
distract in this charade

with tiers shed apart, in threes,
a crocodile's act;
dividing mangroves as they please,
manoeuvres lacking tact

Through periods of crisis, strife,
a year can race, and crawl;
as pumpkin fever rises, rife,
the autumn of our fall

Falling back to local leas,
crops grown with lighter yields;
poorer farmers, higher fees,
drawn back to smaller fields

Hitting close to home, we catch,
leaves rustic, copper, churn;
meanwhile in the pumpkin patch,
the pumpkins take their turns

Counting down, as seasons fly,
mounting up, the days;
carving out the reasons why,
... the things nobody says

A banshee that was never caught,
her cries still on the wind;
a fate we yearned, yet never sought,
with sounds that won't rescind

Echoing round, lost in flights,
wings beating, missing marks;
alone though long October nights,
stretching with the dark

A pumpkin's grimace carved between,
in rules of six, we play;
a long and lonesome Halloween,
'midst damp October days

in costumes strange, stitched up, sewn tight,
to keep the drama out;
A future lost, within plain sight,
a present spent in doubt

in bandages, we wrap our hearts,
keep werewolves from the door;
protective of our precious parts,
like zombies, needing more

A need to breathe, to be alive,
a life half lived, in dark;
sewn together, pieces thrive,
"tween nuts and bolts, that spark

A Frankenstein type tapestry,
stitched through with golden thread;
a quilt weaved strong on what could be,
if what was thought, was said

'midst things that might seem set low, billed,
belieing larger plays;
seeking out a seamstress, skilled,
to sew my brightest days

Panels, motifs, lost within,
"midst all the things I've seen
as banshees wail on the wind,
of things that could have been

if only grasped... that sacred chance,
to see behind the mask;
such fluid steps, a perfect dance,
a heart too scared to ask

a fear of transparency,
adored with hearts ajar;
admired, stalked, complacency,
a distance... safe... afar

Horses long fled, past the gates,
a fate I couldn't see;
closures that were shut too late,
as Unicorns run free

To eat, to sleep, to dream, perchance,
such herculean feats;
with tricks in such abundance, chanced,
... just not so much, the treats

such sweet toothed nymphs, their light denied,
dimming by the score;
stars fall absent from the sky,
some... we just miss more

lost in times we tested, wrong,
lost track without a trace;
Stings that wounded, fester strong,
regrets ran in the race

Divided down to days, weeks, months,
with seconds grim between;
the minutes and the hours sunk,
the sights we've sung and seen

sound somewhere down the rabbit hole,
such pumpkins bright, they sing;
cut and carved, we have it all,
what joys a year might bring

A yield I will never reap,
sometimes you just can't win;
Some people just carve in too deep,
so far beneath the skin

Zealous hearts, left scarred, sing clad,
wings frozen in the fold;
jealous of the things we had
... the things we couldn't hold

with flames now dark, and wax spent cold,
and this year's candle burnt;
furrowed tracks, notes sealed bold,
truths buried... lies intermed

with pumpkins planted, pliant, prone,
a grimace carved in place;
candles burning, on their own,
yet lighting same shared space

like spirits lost in ghost towns, left,
in limbo to forget;
a year now on its wind down, theft,
... and still not finished yet

With treats now sent to trick us, bold,
leaves, rustic, draped, a pall;
the pumpkins gaze, it flickers, holds
the pumpkin sees it all

A flame burns low and bright within,
complete with candy hearts;
clad in sallow orange skin,
hallowed are those parts

A playground where such stray thoughts sat,
and played with things we're shown;
where personal and private, plait,
and merge within the known

A rare reincarnation worth,
the things we've done and seen;
waiting on the next rebirth,
with lives lost inbetween

Out of luck and out of touch,
aborted seeds of doubt;
a fear that you've said too much,
before the lights went out

and as the stars go out tonight,
the pumpkins sing in dawn;
flames extinguished, dying light,
spent wax, with candles drawn

A candle wick that needs a match,
a chandler left unseen;
... a long stretch in the pumpkin patch,
a longer Halloween
© Copyright 2020 Logan (stipey at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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