Prayer for Dawn

In the darkness, a voice groans softly.

Outside the window, something is shuffling.

There are faces looking in wearing masks.

Behind them, the flesh is rotting.

Beneath the flesh, lies a craving for brains.

The craving reaches for a bowl of candy.

The bowl shatters, spilling the candy.

The old boards in the floor creak softly.

A soul cries out, imprisoned in its own brains

it sets to moving, with its feet shuffling

amid the discarded leaves as they begin rotting.

Emaciated arms stretch toward the masks.

Hands reach up, casting off their masks.

Slow, methodical movements scatter the candy.

With every single step, a soul is rotting

its scent carried on the wind, blowing softly.

Their feet carry them, relentlessly shuffling,

across the floor, without a thought in their brains.

Screams echo as the scent of brains

fills the air. They chase children in masks.

Moving fast, their little feet are shuffling

through the grass with large bags of candy

in their hands. Tiny voices pray softly,

but as they run their resolve starts rotting.

Pounding, every step on the path of rotting

sends a great cry shrieking through the brains

of the children as they cry softly

from behind their store-bought masks

and now they leave their candy

behind to evade the endless shuffling.

But it doesn’t stop the shuffling.

The only smell in the air is rotting.

The only color in the night is scattered candy

and they finally feed their need for brains.

The remnants of the children’s lives, masks

that break with the day, ever so softly.

 

“Praying for Dawn”, an updated version of the above poem, was published on August 15, 2012 in the Spokane River Writers Anthology titled … And Then What Happened? Vol 1.

A copy of the anthology may be purchased here. Please consider purchasing a copy! The proceeds from this book will support NaNoWriMo and Young Writers programs in my area, which foster a life long love of the written word.