Pumpkin Eyes
This is the time for extroverts,
In black and blood blood red –
These are the days of gothic flirts
To dance with the not-quite-dead.
It’s no place for the camera-shy
To sulk in their solitude –
Those killjoys who refuse to try,
And mope instead of brood.
But the timid are always lurking,
Till our fresh attention makes them disappear –
Their breaths are overworking,
When they have to carry-on and quell their fear.
Ask them what they’re frightened of, out there,
And no surprise –
It’s the unrelenting stare
That comes from all those thousand hidden, judging eyes.
This is the hell for introverts,
Where showing-off is top –
So they play-along until it hurts,
And the mask at last must drop.
It is no time for dressing-down
With hoodies for a cowl,
For loners who refuse to clown,
But choke instead of howl.
But the bashful are always haunting,
Always hoping to just blend-in, and fend-off eyes –
They find the season daunting,
But they have to venture-on with no disguise.
Ask them what they’re frightened of, out there,
And they recall –
It’s the ones who just don’t care
That there are quiet ones who aren’t like them at all.
Rhyming Couplets 