No one thinks of the dead on Halloween
a trick-or-treat poem
No one thinks of the dead on Halloween
Children in their costumes
One is a ninja, one a farmer
among the pop culture masses
another, an abomination
Yaldaboath aborted by Sophia
to tell lies, to peddle
sweet poisons
in this land of living
plentiful nothing
The bones of our ancestors
trampled to dust
everyone looking forward
almost none within
Autumn leaves, reds and
greens, flushed out
The sky turns over
pink sunrise and then
midnight
The earth rests
waiting for the ones
its faithful children
its next of kin