A Road That Burns at Both Ends

No more hauntings, these ghosts have gone 

They've passed away a long, long, time ago. 

Through tree and sky on a lonesome road 

That autumn once washed in a thin orange glow. 

Pushing pen, alarming scent 

Raging woode engulfed by statement. 

Silent Hill, its sulfur calling 

For running ink as a filling parchment. 

Creatures quenched From words starving, 

Monster maker By the sentence jotting. 

A writer seeking Misery's Army 

Files in row Unearthing company. 

Ov Deadfall fellows, 

Ov stalk and straw-fiend, 

Ov Sounding cicada 

Ov lunacy marching. 

As mindful thinking dawns thoughtless walking 

A harvest moon shines, back down on the numbing. 

If a thought is worth saving.. make a raft for the quandary. 

As the end of today, seems as if a Monday is nothing.