By Morrow Night Poem by Jacob Biehl

A man in a corner, head drooping with mead,
with a cankerous to rival the dead.
His breath foul, and eyes blood-red,
And by morrow night, his mind will have bled.

The figure in the corner with a horrid grin, and a morbid grace,
'I am the clown with a tear-away face,
I can fade into the night, disappear without a trace.'

Next to him was a bloodied sword, in the grasp of a dark knight,
'Don't run of hide, embrace your fright,
for I am the shadows that lurk in the night.'

He had turned to flee, so scared was he,
'where do you think you're going, human so vile? '
shout the bartender, with a smile filled with beguile.

Blocking his path was a burning whip, a jutted neck, and bony hip,
'where are you going, mouse so timid? '
laughed a she-demon whom was so acrid.

In the corner, An imp with a sneer, whose laughter so sadistic.
A presence in the corner, whose wound bled something caustic.
the drunkard man, Filling with panic, his situation something drastic.

the bartender came close, 'Finally, blood to bathe my teeth.'
The nightmare, just out of reach said his blade will have it's next sheathe.
A arachnid, proud was she, 'to my young, the art of death i do bequeath.'

He awoke with a jolt, the hour a minute past mid-night,
revelations came to him, 'Last marrow was hallow's eve night.'