In the spirit of all Hallow's Eve, I was inspired to compose such a poem. Anyways, the means of inspiration nor how it was conceived is not important. All that matters, is my hope you, the reader enjoys this piece.

When I was little, it was okay. It was normal
To believe in the things that went
Bump in the Night.
Under the bed, a monster may lie in wait
And I would quiver, beneath the sheets fearing fate

As childhood's hour passed, fear became fiction
Now, the need gone, for infantile reaction
Far into the double digits, ready for a family of mine own

All the things that went bump in the night
Up until now, were merely stories
Upon the inheritance of a tome
The blackest of nights, it happened then

From the deepest pits of Hell, came forth a sight
When I expected from my curiosity, a blight
Instead, my eyes feasted upon the beauty summoned
A woman wreathed in leather, a suit of kinds
One I did not, in the least bit, mind

Despite the devil wings, she was quite a find
With breasts and thine hips larger than I thought feasible
I could not fight, for her beauty was unspeakable
No doubt, with a figure of impossible proportions
Was there, in my pants, a distortion?

The witch was from no nation
to which I fought her temptation
The ritual from which she was conjured
A marriage proposal from a vein punctured

She besmirched, were I the one to whom
Hath summoned her from the beyond
I could not say it had been but a mistake
Quoth “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”
I remembered and said 'twas I

No one might believe me if I said
My bride is more fair than the flaxen maid
And to which the ankle-biters are paranormal
Some may say, I just have a psychosis
But I assure you, she more than any mortal dame