The Year of the Rabbit
by Ryan Tilley
“Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” --Edgar Allan Poe
While the media looks for the story in fear,
There’s another technique to try.
But the story repeats and repeats and repeats.
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
While the murdered relinquish their blood on the floor
And the killer’s expression is wry,
He will learn in a flash that he’s totally wrong:
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
As the lanterns display with a beautiful red
And the partners are left with a cry,
The recently deceased will begin to believe
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
For the ghosts are transformed into ancestors now
As their screams are as soft as a sigh.
For the atheists finally stubbornly learn
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
Since the killer is hiding his nerves are on fire
With his hope like a bird that can’t fly.
He had trusted the voices and pictured the dead.
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
The survivors are left with the shock and the guilt
As they wonder and curse in reply.
So the coward will run like a drunken buffoon,
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
The contracted community mourns and renews
With the phase of the moon in the sky
When the festival lanterns are taken away.
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
Since the fear of The Year of the Rabbit was real,
There’s a villain to sorely decry
As the man was disturbed and deficient in Ren.
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
While the media looks for the story in fear,
There’s another technique to try.
But the story repeats and repeats and repeats.
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
While the murdered relinquish their blood on the floor
And the killer’s expression is wry,
He will learn in a flash that he’s totally wrong:
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
As the lanterns display with a beautiful red
And the partners are left with a cry,
The recently deceased will begin to believe
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
For the ghosts are transformed into ancestors now
As their screams are as soft as a sigh.
For the atheists finally stubbornly learn
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
Since the killer is hiding his nerves are on fire
With his hope like a bird that can’t fly.
He had trusted the voices and pictured the dead.
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
The survivors are left with the shock and the guilt
As they wonder and curse in reply.
So the coward will run like a drunken buffoon,
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
The contracted community mourns and renews
With the phase of the moon in the sky
When the festival lanterns are taken away.
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
Since the fear of The Year of the Rabbit was real,
There’s a villain to sorely decry
As the man was disturbed and deficient in Ren.
It’s the truth that this world is a lie.
Ryan Tilley has placed in two Writer's Digest poetry contests, had poetry published in New York Literary Magazine, Flare: The Flagler Review, and The Raven Review, among others. He has won runner-up seven times in The Saturday Evening Post's bimonthly limerick contest, and won first place in the Baltimore Poe House & Museum Faux Poe poetry contest in 2015.