Hallows’ Eve Holds No Fears
Hallows’ Eve holds no fears.
That the dead
Are clamouring at the gaunt midnight cloth
That separates from is and was;
Bleak, imagined graves ripe with corpse worms,
Autolysis
And unrequited life,
Hold no terrors.
Their thin music of nails on glass,
Sadness leaking, like a tap.
Their skull rolling forward like
A coal in the grate
Extinguishing the flame so the room is cupped
In thick, mauve darkness.
These,
Hold no fright.
It is the haunted, dragged footstep of living,
Every day;
To be a spectre in your own macabre skin,
That seizes your
Fibrillating grume of heart
In a grip as chill as a bone white slab
fat with frozen veins of dank blood,
that
Stuffs your mouth
Until- you-cannot-breathe.
Hallows Eves holds no fears.
To daily live,
But not, to breathe.
This is where
The fear gets in;
To feel haunted in your own skin.
Dan Belton 31/10/2019 Hallowe’en