Come October they would rise again ,
steal through hidden doorways .
Putrescent then they take their form ,
in liminal space they have their birth .
☆
Every year they come for their meat ,
driven by some unknown clock.
In twenty-eight days they become manifest ,
their grey bony fingers unlock .
☆
A gallery of faded portraits ,
mark Octobers that have gone before ,
gaze longingly out of picture frames ,
behold the living on which they feed .
☆
It gets darker now once more I tell you ,
it shan't be very long ,
till October casts it's deadened pall ,
and then their sickly will be done .