John Dillinger
The Nightmare of the Running Moon

I will never forget that dark, cold night,
When all around did creep and glisten slick
With damp and night creatures do slide in trails
Of ooze that clings to my deepest, fell dreams.
When the howling moon calls to the dark elves
Who seek to raise the dead to haunt the world.
They send them out to do their work on all
With hunters knives and poison dripping blades
To clip the wings of doves and watch them fall
Into the depths of demon writhing tombs
Who'll lock away their souls from freedom's song.
They laugh the cackle of despairing pain
Regurgitating hate to drive them on.
For I can see them now inside my mind,
They whip their steeds with scything blades of steel
And capitulate to none except their gods,
Who guide them on with wickedest delight,
Demanding sacrifice of dreamers in their beds
They enslave the minds of weaker mortal men
And conquer death to rule the world of sleep.

J. Meade Falkner, English novelist and poet, died today in 1932.

John Dillinger, American gangster, died on this day in 1934.

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