Trick or treat, it's not Halloween,
Treats are days of peace, it seems,
Peace on Earth for the kids and teens,
They're the cutest things you've ever seen,
Treats of a reafforestation industry,
For our future generations to breathe,
We must lift our game, humanity,
Trick or treat, it's not Halloween.
Impervious to the oscillating fans of time
It ran into all man made obstacles
The question burned on the final cross
“Were you the real master all this time?”
Until I staked it with the sword of progress
Soon enough, we turned into rats
A sense of humor was well written
Into the natural order of all things
But I still had to pick off dead skins
From my head onto the winds
Leading me to self-deprecate
I wondered, what was the point?
Grasping at that marage of me
Burning homework in fifth grade
Pillars of bright fuzzy bliss
Surrounded the flames around
I climbed and I climbed up one
Until I reached a pulsating hue
I touched it and the bell rang
I looked down to see superiors
Laughing, for I had to fall down
Then, I felt the rope burn
It's that time of the season
ladies and their beau's
planning x-mas and new years
hat's in air, to throw
If you really want to surprise him
and know just what he thinks
buy yourself a positive test
and see, if he grins, or drinks
No better dipstick made
or gauge of how he feels
than the look upon his face
and if, "Daddy" makes him reel
The vampires, were-wolves and ghouls
appear on my lawn, and at my door
presenting themselves for tricks and treats
all they want to eat, and more
I told a young one "trick or no treat"
eyes whelmed, and broke out in tears
as raindrops, falling at my feet
piling on the candy, nothing did I spare
So this warning I will give to you
when dealing with the young
the trick, no longer in the venue
all you may get, is wailing, from the lungs
To this day I cannot say with certainty
if the tears were real or faked
crocodile with no warranty
Halloweening, my mistake
It was supposedly a birthday gift,
this long-legged razor's edge.
My brother must've seen me
watching it's live demonstrations.
Little did he know,
how skilled I thought myself to be.
The wrapping came off easily.
It was crudely shredded by a lesser blade
soon to be replaced.
Then the weapon itself glared at me
through the clear plastic window of its box.
Unsheathing it then, I felt its power come to me,
two steel legs spreading for a virgin murderer.
I probed it meticulously, the blade
caught the light and somehow swallowed it
before its appendage whirled across to conceal it.
This was a knife with thoughts.
Then I tried my first trick.
The blade danced elegantly,
and though I held on (for dear life)
it wanted to escape from my clutches.
I was caging it gracelessly between my fingers
and its first prerogative was to be free.
Still holding tight, it changed tactics,
a blood thirst radiating from within.
The next move would be my last.
For one split-second it escaped the probation of my palms,
somersaulting through the air above me.
It pointed downwards for a final coup de grâce.
I divorced myself from the weapon that day,
stitches adorned my bloodied hands
and the blade was taken as evidence,
though for what trial I never discovered.
My brother tossed it into the sea, I found,
legs still spiralling, blade still sharp.
Crawl out of your body bag
Beseech me. Indulge me.
Leave ashy foot prints along
The white cold floor.
Children. Run. Hide. Seek.
Autumns wind. Night and bleak.
Behind closed door.
Run. Hide. Seek. Children.
Weapons of laughter and
Flowery wars. Dazzling displays
Of fireworks roars.
Weekends Weak. Months end treat.
Tricks of pumpkins spice so sweet,
Let this be a lesson, knock knock on your door.
Give sweets with haste or suffer forever more.
The weapon you have,
symmetrical, is your face
a conversation passport,
a neon sign,
"Do not begin your speech,
go away, leave me alone"
But the last thing you want,
and quite frankly,
the last thing you need
is to be by yourself,
where your mind can help you
to slice your pulsing wrists
into a hundred pieces,
you're a bleeding mosaic,
but at least you look
happy and beautiful.
You puke smiles,
and they light up your face,
but if somebody were to stop you,
take you aside and say,
"I know you're not okay" ,
would you beg for a piece of space,
or would you let them stay?
You puke smiles,
so no one sees your petals fall,
no crutches to hold you up,
so by yourself, you make them believe
you can manage standing tall.
lighter than water and outside sound,
he is a king known only for his crown,
his golden laurels, larger than life,
woven from bones and spun from ice.
time is a line and history a circle
and they know nothing of the storm underneath,
lightning crackling like a sword in a sheath.
he is magnetic.
his satellites sit and wait
for his hydrogen bonds to slowly break
and then he will float apart, austere,
but they’ll discover that no one was actually here,
that it was his plan all along,
and nobody will know where they truly belong.
drift away, drift away,
he may be scatted but they’ll never escape.
the old king lives another day.