Happy Halloween Poem by Fred Babbin

Where is the magic circle
Where is that magic touch
that makes things right?
That will comfort you
in the middle of the night
when everything is still
and not a sound is heard
except your screaming mind.
That indexfile box
of memories and words
inside your brain
that goes from A to Z
from zero to infinity
and back again.
And those Alfred Hitchcock dreams
that wake you from your sleep
a waking that releases you
from all the horror of that other world
from which you thank your darkest stars
that it’s not real –
from which you think you can’t escape.
But you do.