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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact

('tis the Season to Be Dreary) by Joe DiMino

While in the hollow
Of a Hallows’ Eve—
Deep in the hollow—
Standing before my grave;
In which soon to be set--
Gnawed to the bones
Sucked dry
Of marrow--
The casket then lowered
As my spirit bows
To a ravaged form--
Prior the final curtain
Comes to each of us
This morbid ritual—

I quake, at the thoughts…

None of them 
Less maddening—

Alone, facing
The beastly-dread;
Of that youthful creature
Once again, enlivened, 
Heavily breathing
Beneath my bed—
More chilling
For its age—

I am reminded:
“Fear comes in countless
Shapes and sizes”—

Fearing that I
Have not yet
Met them all;
Appeasing this demon’s Trick,
I, the blood,
To be drained-dry Treat—
Heaven’s doors all locked
And barred;
Repulsed by the Season’s 
Horrid-night of passage;
To ghouls comfort denied
Our God unforgiving,
Not till the morning 
For a 
New mercy..... 

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