In the shadowed reels where legends play,
Stands John Carpenter, dark and gray.
A maestro of fear, a weaver of night,
He crafts our nightmares, out of sight.
Through fog and shadows, his visions creep,
Awakening terrors from the deep.
With Halloween’s whisper, he stirred our fright,
The Shape in the darkness, hidden from sight.
A Thing from ice, grotesque and vile,
Tested our trust in each other’s smile.
In precincts besieged, he showed the fight,
Where courage and fear took flight by night.
With synth and screen, his stories unfold,
In tales of horror, chilling and bold.
A dystopian dream, where freedom’s flame,
Flickers and fades in a lost man’s name.
They Live, but do we truly see,
The masks of power, the chains of "free"?
Escape from cities, cloaked in despair,
A world remade in a vision so rare.
John Carpenter, in celluloid's embrace,
Gave us a mirror, a haunting face.
Through every frame, his legacy weaves,
A master of stories, in whom terror believes.
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