All Hallows Eve,
Halloween,
Samhain,
when the misty veil
between the living
and the dead is
thinned.
Ghouls and Ghosts,
may roam the streets,
looking for goodies
and snack to eat,
but it’s memory that
haunts me.
All for the sweet, lost Lenore,
in her sepulcher by the shore.
No. Just kidding. There’s no Lenore.
But who else should you quote on
Halloween, but Edger Allen Poe?
If ever I could write so sweetly
and yet so melancholy, about
the incredible depths of passion
I had for the incredibly mundane.
I would then be a poet of some
renown I’m sure.
Halloween is for the children now,
getting treats, wearing costumes,
going trunk to trunk in safely lit
parking lots as local DJ’s play annoying
Halloween novelty songs.
It’s no longer really about the horrors
of Death, a grim reaper curling its boney fingers
around your throat as you struggle against the inevitable.
No witches are flying across the Moon,
stealing children for their bones to add
to the eye of newt soup, boiling in a cauldron
back at the coven. They
probably feel bad
because the horrors of the real world completely
usurp the imagined horrors of lore.
Frankenstein’s Monster,
would be a welcome guest at many
tables and be a marvel of medical science,
rather than the soulless, tortured
creature of literature.
He’d be less of a pariah than your
racist Uncle who always ruins Thanksgiving
with his rants about, “those kinds of folks.”
In a world of true terrors and horrors,
it’s hard to rectify the enjoyment of
cursed mummies, vampires and spirits,
teasing the living with nightmares and
spine tingles.
Nevertheless, Happy Halloween!!
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