Trick?

Happy Halloween -
May all the knocks at your door
Be without bloodshed.

Copyright © 2013 by Simon Austin

Halloween or Hallowe'en , also known as All Hallows' Eve, is a yearly celebration observed in a number of countries on October 31, the eve of the Western Christian feast of All Hallows' Day. It initiates the triduum of Hallowmas, the time in the liturgical year dedicated to remembering the dead, including saints (hallows), martyrs, and all the faithful departed believers.

According to many scholars, All Hallows' Eve is a Christianized feast initially influenced by Celtic harvest festivals, with possible pagan roots, particularly the Gaelic Samhain. Other academics maintain that it originated independently of Samhain and has solely Christian roots.

The word Halloween or Hallowe'en dates to about 1745 and is of Christian origin. The word "Halloween" means "hallowed evening" or "holy evening". It comes from a Scottish term for All Hallows' Eve (the evening before All Hallows' Day). In Scots, the word "eve" is even, and this is contracted to e'en or een. Over time, (All) Hallow(s) E(v)en evolved into Halloween. Although the phrase "All Hallows'" is found in Old English (ealra hālgena mæssedæg, mass-day of all saints), "All Hallows' Eve" is itself not seen until 1556.

Retribution (From My Beautiful Lie)

The lie I created I hid far behind,
Blind - vacuous and vapid, my rapid descent
Into madness was sealed, with gladness
The concealed face of my own lot was lost
And the cost of this deception was total,
Brutal at the very point of inception,
The question though - what have I done?
The truth was undone and the lie became loose
And could not be contained though I strained
Just to keep it within, but too late,
It was free, punished me, brought insidious glee
But no more than a lie was it,
Born as I cried for it, broke on the floor as it
Nurtured a love that was poor and emaciated
Broken and wasted and what for?
The question remained, but my conscience was stained
As I fed on the lie until all had been fooled -
I down-tooled, tried to stop, but too late
For the damage was done, from the top I had fallen,
Appalling, like Icarus scorched by the sun.
Both he and I strived for the utmost untouchable,
But instantly fallible, lost with the dawning of truth.
The noose had been slung, but still blind by the lie,
Unaware of this foolishness, arrogant bullishness
Burnt these wax wings to the core, the floor being met
As we plummet in flames, meet the lie that was left
Now deep rooted in earth, I, destitute, bereft,
Try to claw my way out of the mess I have made;
Try to claw my way out of my grave.

Copyright © 2013 by Simon Austin 

Forever Let This Place Here Be

Forever let this place here be
A warning to humanity,
A cry of despair, suffering;
Death in total, unrelenting.
Forever let its soil be bare,
For life shall grow not anywhere,
This place, a scar upon the face
Of mans wickedness, mans disgrace.

Forever let this place here stand
As evidence of evil planned,
A barren wasteland, void of hope,
Where many left in clouds of smoke.
Forever let its fences loom,
Its unmanned towers, pending doom.
Do not erase its vacant skies,
Beneath which fell so many lives.

Forever let this place here sound
A silence without any bounds,
Where millions let out a cry
Then vanished into ashen sky.
Forever let its pits be dug
And let them keep their endless blood,
Let not the present hide the past,
Beneath these ashes, horror lasts.

Forever let this place here show
How deep the darkest monsters go,
An industry that born of death,
Annihilation without breath.
Forever let its gates be wide
And let the living pour inside,
For witnesses will herein see
The debris of humanity.

 Copyright © 2013 by Simon Austin

Electrified barbed wire fence surround the immense complex of  the Nazi concentration camp
Auschwitz-Birkenau where over 1.1 million people, mainly jews, were murdered during its operation,
May 1940 to January 1945

Hitman

I dial him up,

An unlisted number, of course

But easy enough to find

When you know where to look.

He speaks low, and slow,

I tell him what he needs to know,

No more. Not too much.
He books me in. Half-four.
Simple stuff - a time, a place, the door,

The colour, the number, the floor outside.

Then the target, to mark it,

Rough age, hair colour?

Height, weight, creed?

But no more. Not too much. No need.

But of course, remind him which door!

I give them over, lower my voice.

Slower, again, so that he knows for sure.

Payment is easy, no need to worry,

It'll be with the victim, I say,

I know where they'll keep it today.

Safe code and all, in the wall.

He takes down the digits.

How will you do it? I ask.

That's not my concern apparently,

And a shame really,

It'd be handy to know it,

Give me a sense of it, revel in it

Before it occurs, but no words,
Not to worry. No hurry,
I'll find out anyway, today.
So I thank him for his time.
Unresponsive, he kills the line.
That's fine, now to wait
'Til it's done. The time goes quick;
Half-one, 
Half-two, 
Half-three,
Then a defining knock
At my door, 
Half-four - such the professional,
And look at that, 
Right on schedule.

Copyright © 2013 by Simon Austin