"Slarrow" refers to the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" from Hamlet's soliloquy. Here are the chronicles of such darts and whatever attempt there may be to take arms against such a sea of troubles.

Location: Ozarks, United States

Sunday, October 31, 2004

A Little Halloween Poetry

This is dedicated to Greyhawk at Mudville Gazette (since he posted something nice about my poetry and got me to writing it again) and to all our troops out there hunting down our enemies. They are the "strong stirring wind" and the "fiery whirlwind".

The Ghoul

The year moves near to night of dread.
The Ghoul comes back to feast on dead.

The voice first cackles, and then it moans.
Skin too tight over too tight bones.

Spider moss hanging from bone bleach chin.
Gaping maw opens, nightshade within.

"Freedom or death," the lie gurgles out.
From somewhere the wind whips dust about.

"Here is your death," it whispers with calm.
A small glowing pill on a cold withered palm.

"But freedom for all, just leave from this land."
The same poison pill in that outstretched hand.

"Hurry and choose, your time it is short."
Its bones start to buckle, snapping report.

The strong stirring wind that whips dust about
Is tearing off limbs, rip-roaring, a rout.

The Ghoul's ghastly grin says, "Your end is near."
The fiery whirlwind takes all but the fear.

The Ghoul is a ghost that tumbles alone
In the boneyards of sand and the houses of stone.

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