A Spectre at the Party

His mansion gleamed with a thousand lamps,

A thousand carriages at his gates,

Crystal glasses in unison clinked,

Fur and leather and gold cufflinks.

Strings of pearls amidst giggles and heels,

Lavish gowns swept the floor,

His table laden with elaborate meals-

The Mayor’s soiree, opulence galore.

With hearths and halls and secrets many,

The Mayor’s mansion- a giant edifice,

Several storeys above the ground,

Just as many below the surface.

A hundred men at the Sire’s bidding,

Had scrubbed each room that morning,

Save for the chambers underground,

Which to curious eyes, remained unseen.

Lavenders and voices and perfumed silk,

The evening alive and echoing through the house,

Kindled a rustle at the cells underneath,

And the spectre of a great old seigneur was roused.

Still in his robes of sapphire and gold,

The lord, once a fencer, now pale and old,

Held captive after a violent row,

And thrown into the dungeon half a century ago.

He smelled the smell of food and dance,

Sunken eyes springing to life,

He advanced to the doorway, as though in a trance,

Flooded with memories of when he was alive.

Of ballroom dancers and drinking bouts,

Of a table laden with freshly baked cakes,

As the spectre walked through the corridors,

He gasped at the finery, his dead heart ached.

An instant of silence, and they broke out in screams,

Running and tripping over boots and shawls,

Pallid with fear, chairs upturned,

Some had spotted the ghost in the hall.

Standing by a pillar he watched them dance,

His face gleamed with vicarious glee.

All he wanted was warm bread,

And a little wine to wet his throat,

A chair by the fireside,

To recount cheerful anecdotes.

But alas! The guests shrieked and scrammed,

Leaving behind a coat or two,

In shock and dread and haste alike,

Nobody bade the Mayor adieu.

Puzzled and hurt, the ghost of the Lord,

Pacing quietly through the marbled hall,

Stumbled upon a gilded mirror,

And his walk came to an abrupt halt.

Bones for shoulders where his blue robes hung,

A skull in place of a human head,

The Lord appalled at his own reflection,

Then realised why the guests had fled.

Gravely saddened, the Lord glanced,

At the scented and well lit room once more,

In great despair the spectre

Retired to his basement floor.

Via Discover Prompts: Hidden
https://wordpress.com/discover-wordpress/2020/04/26/discover-prompts-day-26-hidden/ 

Advertisement

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s