Hollow Ian

With eyes on stalks which dangle down

to scare the children. Screaming drowns

the cries of anguish leading down

a corridor of madness.

With fetid breath the lingered stench

fills up the nostrils. Horrors wretch

the terror demons t’ward the trench

of minds filled up with sadness.

The dying eyes of children see

the ghosts of present memory

who’s tendrils grace most pleasantly

the key to freedoms gladness.

One night of torture making fun

of ghosts and goblins lives undone

but sanctioned horrors just begun.

The night? Eternal badness