Halloween is here!
It’s that time of year again where the leaves are falling, everything is changing color and your favorite coffee house is offering a spiced treat. The air begins to cool, the nights draw ever closer and the spirits of Halloween begin to pop up all over town (see what we did there?).
What could possibly compliment this season better than a spooky shirt from your favorite small family owned apparel store.
You can view all of our Halloween Offerings in one handy place.
We’re not just here to sell you things though. Oh no. We’re here to spook the pants off of you too and to do that, we’d like to introduce some musings from Teesplosions favorite spooky poet, Edgar Allen Poe.
Lo! ’tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
That motley drama- oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
The Conqueror Worm (published 1843)