He's A Pumpkin Eater

He's as mad as marbles, he's a pumpkin eater, with a pumpkin head

Every year he's conjured by the witches, from the bones of the dead

Sired on All Hallows' Eve, into an anathema, with a ravenous hunger

And now he'll sate his greed, on the feeble old and innocent younger

Prowling, for he's a predator, who has a taste for meaty pumpkin pie

Under the witching spell, he'll feed 'til the bones are exposed and dry

Munching on every last sinew of cartilage, before supping on marrow

Piercing bones with his teeth, in the mortuary of a madman's barrow

Keep away from him! He's a wandering maniac, he's a pumpkin eater

In the dark of All Hallows' Eve, he knows the flesh is so much sweeter

Nocturnal necrophor, of a clan of undead, he's a shape-shifting shade

Eternally rising on this, October's last, with his butcher's pitted blade

And now as the sun is setting, even the witches will hide from his sin

The empty eyes in a rotting head and the vile mouth, carved in a grin

Exalted by anthropophagites the trick of his treat is stalking his game

Rendering them senseless, with insanity, as a rusty cleaver takes aim

Mister Reaper

Mister Reaper, is that you in the dark, half concealed in a hood?

Is that the silhouette of your shadow, or have I misunderstood?

Say something please and appease me and I will try not to fawn

Take my soul and my will and then lead me to the blighted corn

End my misery, Mister Reaper, guide me to my lord and master

Release me from this mortality and let sciomancy be my pastor

Raise the razor-blade for me, above the shoulders, raise it high

Execute my corporeal being and let my unholy body rot and lie

And to you, Mister Reaper, I'll leave my last thought and dream

Pray for me and I will bequeath to you where my torments teem

Everything I am, I will give to you, I will give you ten times tithe

Revenant Reaper, I'll rest in peace, under a bloody high scythe

 

Desert Island

Desert island of hidden coral reefs and golden beaches of sculptured sands

Endures in certain wistful reveries, for it's there where no man ever stands

Seductive secret sirens will call with an enchanting dirge of mournful songs

Enticing all those lucid dreamers, who'll dream apart, from passive throngs

Rats on rafts, from sinking ships, will sail away to another shimmering shore

They maybe cast adrift and caught though, by the unstoppable force of yaw

In the salty wind-whipped surf, those oneiric wights are sure to run aground

Setting down on the shifting sham, when they're too deep asleep and sound

Lulled by a utopian pareidolia, but there, the syrtic sands are much too quick

As the dreamers sink and slide, before they rise, to escape the illusion's trick

Nothing alive, lives on the desert island, not even phantom bees will bumble

Dreamers dream though, of an oasis, where eroded castles fall and crumble