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My Party
From fit of four walls,
should I wander the halls
along cold marbled floor;
open the door
of madness
and step in?
Through bleak catacombs
of my dark castled home;
pursue pale candles splendor
to the sill I remember
and drop?
For backward I hear
my gatherers near;
would it be unbecoming and queer
to greet them with congenial hello?
I think so.
I shall surely stay put
in my ashes and soot
of dead flowers and cold summer smiles.
choices can last on for miles.
their host may be here a while.
