Post by serenepoetress on Feb 2, 2004 21:59:44 GMT -5
*I wrote this piece about a year ago, but this is the most aptly named forum that I have ever posted it in.*
The Masque of the Raven’s Plume
requests your presence in the womb.
Invitations are extended at conception
to participate in the great reception.
Birth christens the informal soiree.
Innocence dwindles with each new day.
Childhood spawns imaginative schemes,
idealistic hopes and fanciful dreams.
Adolescence interrupts the gala event,
escorted by puberty— a moody malcontent.
Adulthood promenades across the marble floor.
Maturity longs to partner youth— once more.
The grand ballroom is an illusory lair.
Life is many things, but seldom fair.
The years waltz by at a frenzied pace.
Poor choices leave an indelible trace.
Lavish tapestries edge arching walls.
Most depict past triumphs— some past falls.
Seasons were lyrical tunes— once played.
Pitiless time daunts the masquerade.
Bluesy concertos court the tomb.
Fate’s cotillion precedes doom.
Music resonates from a string quartet
whose final performance shall be ‘Regret’.
Mortals partake in the masque by chance.
There are those who depart— declining to dance.
While others revel amongst buoyant balloons,
festive confetti, and gay festoons.
Become drunk on life’s brusque perfume.
Freely feast in life’s banquet room.
Savor each and every breath inhaled.
Gorge on a lifetime of mem’ries regaled.
Laughter wanes where the shadow looms.
Existence pales as death consumes.
Crestfallen angels guide cursed souls.
Life’s costume ball exacts grim tolls.
Chandeliers dim— the dance concludes.
The hour nears— darkness intrudes.
While the maestro takes one final bow
the grave ensues— we know not how.
When the master of the masque retires
our demise, regrettably, he requires.
Upon softest satin bones implore
the masque to free them— forevermore.
The Masque of the Raven’s Plume
requests your presence in the womb.
Invitations are extended at conception
to participate in the great reception.
Birth christens the informal soiree.
Innocence dwindles with each new day.
Childhood spawns imaginative schemes,
idealistic hopes and fanciful dreams.
Adolescence interrupts the gala event,
escorted by puberty— a moody malcontent.
Adulthood promenades across the marble floor.
Maturity longs to partner youth— once more.
The grand ballroom is an illusory lair.
Life is many things, but seldom fair.
The years waltz by at a frenzied pace.
Poor choices leave an indelible trace.
Lavish tapestries edge arching walls.
Most depict past triumphs— some past falls.
Seasons were lyrical tunes— once played.
Pitiless time daunts the masquerade.
Bluesy concertos court the tomb.
Fate’s cotillion precedes doom.
Music resonates from a string quartet
whose final performance shall be ‘Regret’.
Mortals partake in the masque by chance.
There are those who depart— declining to dance.
While others revel amongst buoyant balloons,
festive confetti, and gay festoons.
Become drunk on life’s brusque perfume.
Freely feast in life’s banquet room.
Savor each and every breath inhaled.
Gorge on a lifetime of mem’ries regaled.
Laughter wanes where the shadow looms.
Existence pales as death consumes.
Crestfallen angels guide cursed souls.
Life’s costume ball exacts grim tolls.
Chandeliers dim— the dance concludes.
The hour nears— darkness intrudes.
While the maestro takes one final bow
the grave ensues— we know not how.
When the master of the masque retires
our demise, regrettably, he requires.
Upon softest satin bones implore
the masque to free them— forevermore.
