The Party

I dream of a palace

inside, the alluring and the repulsive

the affluent and the needy

the clever and the ignorant

surround a sumptuous feast

in the prime of their youth

how they appear

their only concern

how much they eat

and how well they dance

what tickles their ears

and makes them smile

I see my mother

forty years younger

and next to her, myself as a child

embracing them both

blinded by tears

all too soon, it is over

he stands at the entrance

that hideous, bony figure

with a perpetual grin

staring from underneath

a thick, black shroud

silent with shock and horror

we know full well who he is

but still refuse to believe

"you are not welcome here!"

someone finally says.

"you need to leave!"

the figure replies without emotion,

"no, this is my property

and it is you who must leave."

futile to resist such a demand

toward the dark exit

we walk, faces downcast

the great hall is suddenly cold

wind blowing dust over uneaten food which rots instantly

I turn to look one last time

seeing only a great mess

the palace and all we who are in it

age a hundred years

in a single moment

as we exit into the unknown