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.