As I sat and pondered All Hallows Eve, a dark cloud descended on my soul, mournful sorrow its only goal. And then the ghost of my porch stood silently and stared, urging me to ponder further if I dared. So I searched the deepest reaches of my mind, waiting for this skeleton jackal to opine. Finally this pirate long dead spoke, “The remedy to your doom and gloom is a party on this particular date, that would be a party at Iron Gate.”
“Yes, a Halloween Party!” I shouted out to nobody at all. Then dreamed of the days past at The Monsters Ball.
Few days to the fright of night, few days til Poe’s delight. Do you hear Iron Gate calling, do you feel yourself falling, falling into your doomed fate, Halloween night at Iron Gate?
To men of analytical persuasion does Halloween make sense? To men of genius tis a night of recompense. Why? Because genius is found in the imagination, dark a place as it may be, you’ll need to come to Iron Gate to speak more of this with me!
True it is of sightings of apparitions at the house with gates of iron, “And thou art dead as young and fair,” haunts the words of Great Lord Byron. Will the spirit of this noble poet join our Mr. Poe? Attendance at All Hallows Eve at Iron Gate, is the only way to know. To know about love lost, at such a cost, that souls are left to wander, sad, sad it is a Halloween to squander.
The rooms have been occupied and we have served food and libations galore, but all who can count, know it well that it’s only hours til the night that we adore. Now there are those who want something for nothing, America’s truly great foe, so if kids want candy at Iron Gate, they’re going to listen to Mr. Poe!!! ha, ha, ha, ha!!!
A chill came to the morning air as I closed the last page of The Pit And The Pendulum, a conundrum? Walls of burning metal closing in on one who is cold, a scary story of the days of old. The leaves fell from the old trees and blew across the porch of such great fame, and for a moment I did indeed feel shame. For I had not yet planned to dance on All Hallows Eve, a tradition of Fall, so add to your night at Iron Gate, what I would call a Monsters Ball!!! Ha, ha, ha!!!
Down into the vast cellar of Iron Gate I stepped, step by step, bothered not by the things that crept. In search of a rare cask of wine, Amontillado, would do quite fine. “Yes, there it is,” said the cellar ghost pointing, happy to aid in my palate’s anointing. I alone will drink of this most rare of wine today, alone, so from my morals I shall not stray. Perhaps others will soon know of Amontillado’s delight, down in Iron Gate’s cellar on Halloween night!!! Ha, ha, ha!!!
Much Amontillado I did imbibe, the following actions it must have contrived. For surely no sane man would embark on such a course, no sober man yield to the force, the force of the red, not the wine, but of the dead. Yes, while down in the cellar, I opened the chamber of yore, and carelessly dawned that mask of gore. I stood adorned in The Mask Of Red Death, and as if yesterday remembered Prince Prospero’s last breath. So for poor Prince Prospero we may all grieve, at the home known as Iron Gate, on All Hallows Eve!!! Ha, ha, ha!!!
Twas not the pounding in my head that filled my being with such dread, nor the pounding at my door, oh so easy to ignore. But the pounding of the heart ringing in my ears, causing me to ponder my deepest fears. I fear for the world beyond my Iron Gate, will it wake before too late. Tell tale, nothing is too big to fail. So less your heart deceive, you need only one thing and one thing only to perceive, be at Iron Gate All Hallows Eve!!!Ha, ha, ha!!!
Poor, poor souls trapped in purgatory burning, all the time so bitterly yearning, to something greater to aspire, and for these souls on All Hallows Eve we burn the haunted fire. The fire in a turnip way back when is not now what I suggest, as this shall never truly put these poor tortured souls to rest. No, the fire of thought, the fire of ideas, the fire contained in the imagination of men like Edgar Allen Poe, this is the fire, which will set our minds aglow. Imaginative fire, burning bright, let our own greatness once again be perceived, and what better time to light this fire than in the darkness of All Hallows Eve.