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

You're Disturbed

You're disturbed, I know it's absurd... but you're disturbed

And am I fine? I'm of a sound that's mine and sound of mind

Although the sound sounds like words, like I should turn an eye blind

Turn a blind eye? Or was it blind a turned eye, turn an eye blind?

So is it the right one, or wrong? But it can't be wrong, so I touch it

Try to pinch and pluck it, as I gasp and groan and whisper 'fuck it!'

So I fucking GOUGE it out! And I scream and fucking shout!...

'Eye spy, with my evil eye!' And it's looking back at me, but I can't see

So I SMASH !T, against the mirror (pop) and crack goes your cranny and nook

But you don't give a fuck, you just give me a bloody hook, line and sinker

And you're still staring, in fragmented reflection, a bloody one eyed blinker

You're disturbed, for now I can hear you snigger, as you pull the fucking trigger

But there're no winners here, just me the sinner's here, as someone once said...

'If thy right eye fucking offends thee... then fucking pluck it out!'

I SCREAM! and gouge, digging deeper into what's left, until the lights go out...

And now you've gone, but this blinding agony can't be right, for it feels so wrong

But you're still preying on my mind, a third and eye, the butchered bloody blind

In my head I know you're not dead, or alive, you're disturbed, it's absurd, I'm...

...disturbed, so I dig deeper and deeper, 'til I find my mind, my cerebral cortex

As I follow you into the empty nothingness, of the infinite vortex

It's Where Unicorns Die

In the inner space of yew and weeping willows and of oaks of wonder

Threadbare shifting light and the drifting shadows, of a mind asunder

'tis where every reverie waits, conjured by the lens of a phantom eye

So serenely alluring, but the dream is bait, for it's where Unicorns die

Will-o'-the-wisp creeps, from the miasmic marsh, onto the forest floor

Hiding its secretive undergrowth in a sidling, luminous shroud of hoar

Enchanted woodland, where the illusive fairies might choose to dwell

Regales in the unreality, of those lost in the trees, with tall tales to tell

Expectancy prevails, with a distant din, beyond the murmurous leaves

Under its spell you're lured, to where only the subconscious perceives

Never lingering for long, for in the sham of the day it's a virtual dream

In the chthonic hours though, the nightmares have an insidious theme

Charmed by the idyllic pretence, but now the unseeable sun is setting

On the fading forest floor the hunt is on and your palms are sweating

Run and hide, for you will need an elusion, now the illusion is fraught

Nothing sane rides in the night, 'cept for the passing of an oneironaut

Stampeding white mares crash onto barbed blades, in concealed pits

Driven to their death, by hagridden wranglers at the end of their wits

In the eerie enchanted forest, where will-o'-the-wisp will eternally lie

Escape if you can, for in the bleakest reverie, it's where Unicorns die

Silent Armies

Shadows form, into silent armies, of the wandering souls of wights

In league with the ravening darkness and death's rudimentary rites

Lost from memories and dreams, they are the shifting empty space

Extinguished ephemeral matter, they were once of the human race

Not in Heaven or Hell, for there is no afterlife, as described by liars 

Their final unresting place is betwixt the icy cold and burning pyres

And they are rank and file and all together, but cannot take or give

Ranging beyond the daylight, they can only feed on those who live

Mourning breaks, but the day is lost to transgressing twilight forms

Inundating through open portals to slake and drown in quiet storms

Eventide fades to lifeless night and beyond the reach of terra firma

Silent armies will douse each shining light, without a dying murmur

Nothing's Real

Nothing's real, except for all the living nightmares, in an imaginary head
Of conjurations and the sophistry of prophetic words of thoughts unsaid
The world outside is an empty space of shade borne from mourning mist
Holographic apparitions of spectres that have never been, but will persist
I'm on an inside looking out, but where I am? I have no hope to ascertain
Neither here nor there, or anywhere else, but if I 'was', I would be insane
God bless myself, but I'm merely an illusion, in a collusion without control
Something from nothing, but the sum of the parts cannot make me whole
Reality's, non-actuality, is the dancing strings pulled by the puppet master
Enabling the fallacy of aspirations, of what might be, like a whether-caster
And unreality has never been anything more than a stochastic hint of light
Lost in an effulgent nebulous ocean and so far distant, that it's out of sight