Halloween, Samhain, the ancient rite
which alone on the calendar boldly sees the night
with all its hidden, suppressed and fearsome fright
and in ghoulish guise or sepulchral facade
sees and smiles at death’s inevitable bite.

Portals dark, shadowed cyprus, weathered tombstone, spectral glow,
flickering bat that flits and flees,
drooping trees in stilted breeze,
all dwell beneath what one claims to know —

the hidden realm immense and looming below,
the Id, the unconscious, the failed ideal,
all that luminous thought cannot reveal —
the endless descent,
the bewildering torment,
all the philosophers who fell unfulfilled
their thoughts like muddy rain running beneath the barrow hill,
sages and monks, and shamans and priests —
hungry ghosts upon their withered bones feast.
Kings and stars of beauty and power
haunt only empty halls, thankless and dour.

The majesty of the play of Samhain eve
is through merriment death’s burdens to relieve
and with sacred reflection to open and retrieve
immortality’s hidden power which no shuttered mind can conceive.


by Kevin Trammel

About ktrammel

Author of Gathered Rain, which can be found on Amazon. Read more on my sites,, or
This entry was posted in Halloween (Samhain), Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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