Halloween wraps fear in innocence, as though it were a lightly sour sweet. Let terror, then, be turned into a treat.

On Halloween, witches come true; Wild ghosts escape from dreams. Each monster dances in the park.

...A fuel-less flame is nothing but a wraith, However wrought, if unsustained by passion.

Only night can make us whole again.

Angels are quite ample cause to cry.

Joy requires one to be awake, Adjusting the heart's ambience to bright. Some prefer the dark, as is their right, On grounds of agony, and to forsake Not only bliss, but all that's blessed by light.

Mothers are the place that we call home. On them we rest our heads and close our eyes. There's no one else who grants the same soft peace, happiness, contentment, sweet release, erasing righttime tears with lullabies, restoring the bright sun that makes us bloom.