Dead Baggage

For just one, frigid, October evening, The dead will dance without their baggage, Abandoning ravenous, ebony pain And any fleck of enduring scorn. Succumbing to this ancient witchcraft, The dead will rise on Halloween night. The rusted lungs of decayed cadavers Will repair, respire, inhale and breathe. While kids in costume horde their candy, The dead will mingle with masquerades. The living, unaware of Pagan prophecy, Openly chat with rancid remains. As solace floods their now beating hearts, The dead will glow with infinite grins. Fearless children give ghouls their praise For creepy designed realistic disguises. Happy to haunt on Halloween, The dead will dance without their baggage. Awoke by sounds of trick or treat, One night a year, alive and free.