Phantom Masquerade (c)2010 Moshda

~*~


As time flows to night from day,
The shadows come out to play, to play.
As the moon begins to rise,
The wind, through skeletal branches, sighs.
The moon peeps through the mansion spires
As through the sky she flies higher, higher.

The grand mansion once was fine,
But now floors creak and door-hinges whine.
In the hall dust settles,
The garden yields naught but nettles.
Spiders spin their countless webs,
And unearthly energy flows and ebbs.

Naught but the clouds do stir,
Casting shadows that make shapes blur.
All is deadly silent—there is not a sound
For miles and miles around.
But once the moon to her rest does lay,
The ghosts come out to play, to play.

Not a mouse is stirring,
But from the clock comes a whirring.
At midnight the clock begins to chime,
Calling the phantom guests to dine.
From long-abandoned rooms they emerge;
And to the grand ballroom they surge.

For many a decade,
These spirits have attended this masquerade.
Just between you and me,
The mansion is cursed—now it’s plain to see!
These ghosts themselves still resemble,
And must here yearly assemble.

For long ago on this very night,
A nervous young groom took flight.
He left his new bride waiting…
But her faith in him was rapidly fading.
While the wedding guests their food enjoy,
The girl, a dagger to her heart she did employ.

So while her friends ate their fill,
The bride’s red, red blood did spill.
While the happy dancers sashay,
Her body, upon the velvet carpet, lay.
As they in drunkenness began to sing,
A servant’s horrified scream did ring.

For their ignorance, the guests must pay
By reliving that fateful day
Each year… until the groom returns
And of his bride’s fate he learns.
But when shall this masquerade end?
For the groom’s life, years ago, did end.

See the ghosts, how they bend and sway!
They must dance until the break of day.
Then these spectral visions shall disappear…
At least, until next year.
But for now, to the piano let us listen,
See the chandelier, high above us, glisten.

Look, upon the topmost stair!
The abandoned bride—see here there?
Down the steps she floats,
Mingling with dancers and dust motes.
Her face behind a veil is hid,
But of her grief she is not rid.

See the bloody stain upon her breast,
Her grief permits her not to rest.
And so the dusty piano plays on,
The Phantom Masquerade continues ‘til dawn.
Then into the gloom the ghosts shall fade,
The bride, unsatisfied with restitution yet unmade.

The dawn arrives, revealing clouds sun-kissed,
The groom, once more, his opportunity has missed.
A crow—bright of eye and sharp of beak—
Perches upon the roof’s highest peak.
All is calm, of the night’s revelries there is no sign,
Yet upon the breeze, a whisper: “love once was mine!”

The mansion empty seems to passerby,
Yet the truth is known by you and I.
Within the creaking walls is quite a sight to see,
For the ancient manor haunted be.
Until amends are made,
Here shall reside the Phantom Masquerade.

Naught but the clouds do stir,
Casting shadows that make shapes blur.
All is deadly silent—there is not a sound
For miles and miles around.
But once the moon to her rest does lay,
The ghosts come out to play, to play.

Fin.