A collection of Halloween Poems
By Brooke Becchetti ‘23
A peom for the Spooky Writing Contest by Brook Becchetti ‘23.
The moon was full, and that was all that mattered. They had been waiting, through falling leaves and rain and wind. Through cold days and colder nights. Finally, the moon was full again.
A natural cycle of the earth turning on its axis is not inherently paranormal, no, but on this ground it is.
Cursed land, host to the most deadly souls to have lived in the area, warded by enchantments millennia old was powerful on the full moon.
Those wards had been failing. The line between the graveyard and the outside world thining with each passing month. For centuries, they had been enforced every year, but the mages had been dead for decades and no one replenished the magic that held them prisoner.
Tonight, they would break free and terrorize the world again, if only from behind the veil. All they had to do was give the gate a little push.
A natural cycle of the earth turning on its axis is not inherently paranormal, no, but on this ground it is.
Cursed land, host to the most deadly souls to have lived in the area, warded by enchantments millennia old was powerful on the full moon.
Those wards had been failing. The line between the graveyard and the outside world thining with each passing month. For centuries, they had been enforced every year, but the mages had been dead for decades and no one replenished the magic that held them prisoner.
Tonight, they would break free and terrorize the world again, if only from behind the veil. All they had to do was give the gate a little push.
Photo by Aléthea Vickerman ‘22
A poem for the Fall Writing Contest by Brook Becchetti ‘23.
The leaves fell early this year. They hadn’t turned early, they developed in good time. But they were washed away by the rain.
Ever-intensifying storms forced the leaves down premature, no match for the hostile environment.
They lie on the ground, limp and crumbling, as great disappointment flooded in their wake.
Winter had come early, but the frost would hold off yet. The town could not grieve until the ice took hold, so they held in limbo the tears of yesterday.
The leaves had fallen early as a generation shrunk.
Ever-intensifying storms forced the leaves down premature, no match for the hostile environment.
They lie on the ground, limp and crumbling, as great disappointment flooded in their wake.
Winter had come early, but the frost would hold off yet. The town could not grieve until the ice took hold, so they held in limbo the tears of yesterday.
The leaves had fallen early as a generation shrunk.
Photo by Aléthea Vickerman ’22
