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Once a year on Hallow's Eve
in cemeteries and abandoned buildings everywhere,
the dead wake and throw a soiree the living would envy.
With morbid decor displaying glowing candles of all sizes
and haunting music so loud it would rattle anyone's bones,
they climb to the surface and gather
to enjoy delicious hors d' oeuvres and conversation.
The dilapidated buildings
ordinarily accompanied by spiders, dust, and creaking
host a macabre group.
The halls are full of chatter as the newly deceased
swap stories with those who passed over a century ago.
Bats shake off their slumber
as they soar through the lunar lights that glimmer
behind softly rolling clouds.
They sneak through broken windows
and feast on the fruit salad left unattended.
Rats send echoes with the soft pitter-patter of feet
as they scurry away with cubes of meat and cheese.
Ghoulish guests work their way to the open dance floor
as the night continues.
Cold cadavers grab one another to tango
as breathless bodies hold each other tight.
Graveyards come alive with the dearly departed.
Their skeletons dance in the moon light,
white bones glinting in the pale luminescence.
They smile as they hold each other close,
whispering a lifetime of loving secrets.
Young men dust off flowers from headstones
and present them to shy corpses.
The living fall in love all the time;
why shouldn't the dead do the same?
The rain is full of ghosts,
each discussing current world issues
with a tall sparkling elixir in hand.
Shimmering specters discuss their living loved ones
and boast about posthumous achievements.
Trees sway in the showers
delicately bathing the freshly disturbed sod.
Wolves sing their lunar laments in the distance
not daring to interrupt such sweet reunions.
A murder of crows spy from behind the bushes,
savoring the moonlit scene before them.
As the morning sun creeps closer,
the dead make their way back to their hollow crypts and tombs,
sharing one last joke or admiration for their alluring sweetheart.
A quick kiss that could make a lifeless body blush,
each spirit goes back to their resting place.
Until next year, they shall remain remains.
The wait doesn't seem long though,
when you have an eternity resting in peace.
About the Creator
Ember Gray
Just a twentysomething Midwest girl with a story to tell.
Find me on Twitter at @embergray
Book featuring a collection of these poems and short stories coming out in August!
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