On this day they rise from the tomb.

Some from a very far off home.

On this day we watch them rise,

when the night stars are in the blackened skies.

The offerings alight with magical mist.

We visit our loved ones as they insist.

The night is young, I kid you not.

When the party begins it does not stop.

For two days they celebrate,

awaiting the dance that is so great.

These are the nights that we tempt fate.

Watching our past loved ones rise from their graves.

Nightmare or dream,

they are not the same.

Dia los Muertos or all hallows eve,

though they are different,

they are both not as they seem.