Day turns to night As night turns to day As it’s always been As it’ll always stay We take a breath in We breathe it out We hold onto hope We’re shackled by doubt Still, the sun will set Still, the sun will rise Still, a new day dawns As we open our eyes
Give yourself a break As you navigate your way You’ve been through hell But tomorrow’s a new day Though it may lead right back to hell No one can make you stay Climb your way out With your scars on display
November’s golden embers Grow dimmer by the day Faded and fallen Never long to stay Never ones to say goodbye Just gone for good one day Though we wish to hold on That is November’s way
Too young to vote We’ve all been there When we were innocent And unaware Of the contention I’m right; you’re wrong The constant noise That’s gone on too long Before we’d ever heard Of hanging chads When a Happy Meal Was what made us glad When the grown-ups stood In long lines As we played… Read More Too Young to Vote
The old-growth pines Are slowly letting go Brittle needles fall Orange-tinged below Where pinecones sprout Evergreen The wind’s a mix Of pine and gasoline A chainsaw hums In the distance
The ghosts float around The haunted house As the black cat chases The possessed mouse Up in the attic Where the bloodsucking bats fly Spiders plot revenge On their next victim to die The jack o’ lantern glows Though no candle is lit Casting shadows on one Who just doesn’t fit He’s jolly and fat… Read More HO HO HELLO
“Take a big biteWon’t you, please?It’s from a healthy tree,Free of disease.”The shiny appleFor sale on a stickEnticed their tonguesTo take a lickBut the caramel appleHad secrets to hideIts flesh was rottenTo the core inside*Buyer bewareOf candy-coated lies*
Words drop from lips Like leaves to the ground Colorful, textured Sounds Fall, falling, fallen Whispers Lost sentiments Of the season
We all have boxes Full of treasures we keep Where trinkets hide And memories sleep Whether brittle wicker Or velvet-lined Inside these boxes Are secrets to find Etched upon the fabric Soaked into the seams These boxes are Time-capsules of dreams Or they’re just boxes No more than they seem Dry places to store Our… Read More Boxes
It’s a spooky time in Spooksville This time every year There are many spooky tales That surely you will hear About pumpkins and colored corn Grown in the haunted field Their orange skins and yellow husks Oddly, already peeled As the bony ravens feed On kernels of chaos The skeletal mice scurry Deep beneath the… Read More Spooksville
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