There was an eerie feeling that represented a full moon.
Is it time? The skeleton asked his bunkmates, or is it too soon?
Sure, one replied. Let’s show them that dead is not dead.
They climbed out of their sleeping quarters, their earthy black bed.
October for sure, but is it Halloween? One of the skeletons asked.
The old wise one nodded, but he did not reply. Deep in his flask.
What are you drinking? One of the other boney ones queried.
He shook his fist at him, full of temper. A tiny vole scurried.
Halloween moon, a ghoul who had stopped by quietly said.
He was standing next to Dracula’s son, Draco B. Ted.
Let’s give the humans some howling, scare them into a mood.
Okay, agreed the wise one, but then can we get some food?
The rain came and pummelled her. She did not stop walking.
A tree limb fell, knocking her down. She got back up.
Lightning came, but she did not fold, she was too determined.
A man stopped and tried to give her a lift. She said "no thank you."
She had already seen what some men do, and she wanted none of it.
He called her names, shook his fist. She was glad she had said no.
A flood came and she walked on higher land. Careful of the violets.
The evening came, and the wolves howled. She howled with them.
She walked until she could walk no more, leaving all her stuff behind.
Only things, not her child. Her child was with her, vigilant, watching.
"He was a bad man," her child said. She barely nodded, knowing.
They curled up together, safe for the first night. Wolves stood guard.
Youth seemed an eternal joy
for a gorgeous and happy boy...
no worries over necessities,
with desires without sequence.
The fear of dying was far from pondering,
only beautiful days ahead for the youngest heart....
longing for a tenderness other teenagers never sought,
and sometimes sleeping away the afternoons was invigorating.
Like glass sheding water, his soul was pure and epic
and he never shook his fist to seek revenge;
he never shillied to shin a tall tree with panic...
always used pragmatism whenever on perilous edge.
He lives miserably, living on a day-to-day existence,
but the fear of dying is to exemplify weakness,
not to exert himself and to better before he hits dead-end;
yesterday God was his sunrise, now that light is glimmering instead.
He justifies his misfortunes with an inadequate story,
while his friends enjoy a happy life, he frolics like a sky-lark
feeding on what people discard in a garbage pail daily...
and weeps occasionaly, instead of coming out of the dark.
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