The heart of Hell is but a salty sea
and I commit myself unto its depths,
yet, mark my words, I shall still stab at thee:
furious, futile till my final breaths.
A leg that starts at the arm
when a leg has suffered harm.
A whorl of skin,
all sounds go in
for a drumroll.
Rooted in its hole,
dark side unseen
lens to the soul,
brown, blue, or green.
A panacea as if by design
grown in flower gardens and in the woods,
healing all ills and ails as if divine,
unless the frost blights its womanly hoods.
Two-faced as he comes and goes,
yet never leaves, year to year,
this god of doors and keys knows
that life and death both draw near.
Unlike the other carrion birds
seeking to feed on the heaped-up dead,
these have beaks stuffed full of pungent herbs
and poke pustules that need to be bled.
Buyer’s remorse from wish to wish,
quite the fickle-fingered fetish.
This captain’s face conceals a killer
in a classic Halloween thriller.
A trick, a treat, a type of floss
which, when used, can lead to tooth loss.