The ebb and flow of pustules, pulsing,
Dancing Terrors, in the deep,
Embrace the wisdom of your mothers, or
They will drag you from your sleep,
Shadowed masks creep through the twilight,
Child-like forms of creeping dread,
Embrace the aegis of your fathers, or
In the morn, you will be dead,
Demons weave their textured fear,
Breaking minds from out of sight,
Embrace the bastion of your brothers, or
They'll drown your soul in endless fright,
The Reapers fields are ripe this night,
Pumpkins rot, they writhe and squirm,
Embrace the sorcery of your sisters, or
Come the morn, you'll feed the worms.
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A refined poetic imagination, Craig Stewart. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.