F. P. Dorchak

Speculative Fiction Author

By The Light Of The Moon…

by

By the light of the moon

From the dirt where they lay

They crawl up through earth

To lurk and to prey

They’ve lived and they’ve died

Loved and they’ve lost

But all through this night

Your lives they will toss

             .

Dogs they do bark

Cats they do prowl

Seasons turn chill

And the winds always howl

             .

The myths grow more sick

As clocks do tock tick

For the hour draws near

Of the dark, dread, and fear

             .

Clawed up through dark soil

Within earth they cannot stay

Their legions do roil

Their skin away flays

             .

Leaves rustle, they scatter

Trees all play dead

Rotting bodies that shamble

Are all canted of head

             .

Twitching fright and dead leer

Slack jaws that just fall

Is that shuffling, you hear?

Painful groaning, oh dear!

             .

Prickly skin sent a-crawl

With grand sights of appall

It’s your soul they ill seek

For much more than a peek

             .

Heinous hungry they are

And with them you’ll soon be

Scent of the grave, taste of death

Damp decay you’ll soon cheek

             .

You run and you hide

Scream and you plead

But in truth be it known

Your death is their need!

             .

As civility slumbers

And the retched do creep

Eternal rest will ne’er be

As the dead they do reap

             .

From dirt deathly fearsome

From dirt yet we run

But tis dirt that we are

Tis dirt we become

             .

By the light of the moon

From the dirt where we lay

We crawl up through earth

To lurk…and to prey….

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Reader Interactions

Comments

    • It was great fun! :-]

      Getting into the “undead” mindset and rethinking all my favorite horror movies and scenes! Wanted to get all of the senses in there!

      Thanks!

    • “For no mere mortal can resist…the evil of the thriller!”

      Thanks, Chris! Instead of me doing the “Happy Dance,” note I’m doing the “Zombie Dance”! ;-]

  5. Thanks, all, for stopping by! Yeah, it was fun to write–harkening back to my horror writing days. :-] I’d been wanting to do something for Hallowe’en, and it finally “happened.”

    Now, excuse me, but the light is coming, and I must get back to my grave….

    • Thanks, Terry, nor am I what I would call “a poet,” but every now and then, one hits me. It usually ends up in blood loss from the resulting head wound, but I power through the pain. :-] I forget all the “iambic pentameter” stuff I learned in high school, but love trying to mix things up every now and then. But I love the “creepy” compliments, since that IS what I was clawing after!

      Thanks for stopping by, Terry! Happy Hallowe’en to you and yours! :-E

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