Month Of The Dead Poem by James Darwin Smith II

Waited for what seems a millennia
Full of dust and cobwebs
Falling in love through dreams
A residual that haunted this heart
Each and every night


Can feel
Taste the air
Crisp of leaves
Woven by the fall's design
Dying trees grasping for sun
Early are the nights


The descending bloom
Swept under the tundra
Of the witching hour
Devoured by time
Wilting into slumber
Into the abyss
Of a season's farewell


Fruits once hangingin glory
Decayedall over the ground
Funeral of flavor
As dusk begins to smile
Welcoming darker moments
Haunting each day
Ghosts of a summer's denouncement


The creatures are here
Enigmatic entities
Enthralled by fate's dirge
As the reaper plays a tune
To the grim reality
Of a past season disavowed


And the screams shriek on
Being chased by black fate
Caught, distraught
Only to be placid of any sort of sounds


Waited for what seemed a millennia
To cast dread into the light of day
We are here now
The dead once restless
Dreaming of putting all fun
Into disarray



The tenth month is here
Let us fade into the falling
As hope turns black
And the destiny of the dead
Comes into fruition
As that what is unnatural
Celebrate in the name
Of all for which is insane


Damned is the living
Enslaved by
All things inspired by insanity
Gloom of a dooming disdain


Dead is all
Welcome to the month of the dead