Eyes staring from all directions.
Wandering everywhere within my view.
Ghouls and goblins,
Witches brewing strange tasting potions.
Given to all the young ones.
The clock strikes midnight.
From great depths,
Do strange ones creep and ooze forward.
Cackling and shrieking,
They rejoice over their release.
Rarely do they party,
Can they have festivities.
Only once a year to party.
To make the most of their release,
The gathering of Hallows Eve.
Creaks and groans, moans and screams,
If you hear strange noises 'tis the monsters joyous partying.
The clock strikes six,
Dawn sends slow tendrils of light across the sky.
Cries of dismay,
All migrate home.
Wherever it may be,
Crawling and squirming to their cave.
Homewards onwards to rest,
In tombs or lairs and even swamps.
Perhaps dunes of sand,
All most go to their dwelling.
To wait 'til next year,
They stay waiting perhaps even under your bed.
Some have no real shelter,
Seeking a haven maybe in your closet.
They merely want some fun,
To be noticed sometimes.
However they are ever so cautious,
Oh so careful lest they be shunned for their practices.
'til next year,
they lay in wait for the next celebration.
They aren't so different from us,
Perhaps in appearance but not in soul.