THE NIGHT THE DEAD WALK
- Dark Poets Club
- 1 day ago
- 2 min read
By Bob W Christian
They told you Halloween was candy and costumes
Cartoon witches, plastic masks, porch lights.
They lied.
This is Samhain, the true night.
Not a thin veil, but one that splits.
Cracks like an old bone under a boot.
Oozing time; bleeding memories;
Spilling souls into your frosty breath.
The dead don’t whisper tonight,
They scream.
They crawl through smoke,
Rise from the ash of your grinning pumpkins
Jack O’ Lanterns like corpses,
Smiling with secrets.
You left candy? How cute.
Where was the salt?
The iron?
The ritual circle, drawn clean?
You left your door unlocked,
You called it tradition;
Dressed your children like monsters…
How would you know if
Something else wore their skin home?
That sound? Not the wind.
Your great-grandmother’s voice,
Cutting through the dark
Calling your name.
Like a charm… or a curse.
You think the dead rest?
Not tonight. Tonight, they walk.
Not to haunt, but to harvest.
Not in chains, but hunger.
This is the Witch’s New Year.
No streamers; only black flame.
Witches burn the past and scatter its ash
Across the fields and through the woods
For the old gods to tread.
Witches eat shadow and drink memory.
Kiss the skull-faced truth of time,
And let it rot sweet on our tongues.
Tonight, we don’t fear the dark.
We become it. Wear crow wings,
Draw power from the marrow
Of sleepless ancestors.
Don’t like candles unless you mean it.
Don’t open your door unless you’re ready.
Don’t say the old names - the true names,
Unless you have something to give.
Because tonight, the wind has teeth;
The silence listens,
And your breath maps a path
For things older than gods
To follow you home.
So eat. Dance.
Light the fire.
Turn the wheel.
Mark the bones.
But remember, this night has claws,
And it recalls everything you tried to forget.