Halloween: Scariest Day of the Year

The scariest day of the year for me

Is the last of October, annually—

When freaks and phantoms roam the night,

Ghosts and ghouls and gangsters fly and fight.

Witches, werewolves, wretches too,

Monsters rise from crypt and cell.

Creepy creatures knock at  doors.

A punk arrives, dressed in cereal box and knife—

I ask, “Who are you?” with wary grace.

He grins and smiles and says,

“Serial killer," then adds: “It's a pun,

Don’t run. I’m a poet too.“

I hand out candy, one by one,

And whisper, “Please—be gone, be done.

I hope I never see any of you again,

This haunted eve, this ghostly den.”

The veil grows thin on Halloween,

Where ghosts and ghouls and souls convene.

Where life and death bend and blend—

Where does it start? Where does it end?

The curtain tears, reality fades,

We walk through half-remembered graves.

Who is dying, who is alive?

Who remains when shadows shake?

Now A.I. can wake the dead,

Avatars rise where souls once slept.

Fake lives flicker in the sky—

Digital echoes never die.

Hold on tight, hold to your head,

Tonight we will sleep among the dead.

All we see, within, without—

Is soulful dream and ghostly doubt.