Heritage

The midnight hour is drawing near.
On this, the night of nights.
Magic sweeping through the air.
A horror of delights.

Soft and sensuous, the moon
looks down upon the loony tunes
that let their children roam the streets
so ever full of fright.

Images of ghoulish laughter.
Skeletons that hang in trees.
Pumpkins glaring hatred through
their perforated teeth.

Live the real, and don a mask.
For this, the most important task.
Learn to breathe within its airless bounds.
Go out about the town, just play around.

Collect a bag of sugar-sweet.
Imbibe, and find the masquerade complete.
But oh, beware, my little children!
For I have never felt a happiness
attached to any mask.

Just play the part, and here, my dear,
I offer you my heritage in spades.
The dark of heart. The sharp point
of a spear.

Hold it near, but don't poke out your eye.
Look, the moon is fading from the sky.
Even as the stars are settling.
Bidding you into the night again...

? Michaelette ?

10/31/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .