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Masquerade Ball

Enter the ballroom and be swept away
By figures in all colors and shades
Masked faces and silken threads
In the candlelight which cascades
And mingles with the rays from the moon
Alighting the glorious room
And all those within

And as they twirl and dip
The many hues begin to blend
Soon they are all one entity
Moving in harmony to the melody
Produced by the shadows that only HE may implore

And who is HE that is spoken of?
Who is the one that causes them to pause in their caper?
The most unique and lavish of all
The Lord of these creatures who dress in such colour
The Master of these majestic beings of glamour
He who is both their leader and father
The one whom they all adore

Though he too wears a mask
None there need to guess twice
For his powerful aura signifies to all
That he is their King of Kings
Lord of Lords
And all bow to him

They are his children
Elegant and fair
The finest of all beings
Each with their own special trait
This is his family
A family... of the undead
Of the immortal
Of the magnificent

They continue in their festivities
Once again a flourish of colors and light
To a sound so haunting and macabre
On this Allhallows night

Author notes

It's incomplete and probably doesn't make much sense, but I just had to get it down for now. It's supposed to be for a cult in one of the websites I visit.

Will complete at a later date. (hopefully before Halloween)

Your opinions?

    I plan to revise this poem: please leave constructive criticism!
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Comments


  • RareFlower
    November 11, 2008

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    such breathtaking imagery

    you had me waiting eagerly for every word! wow to attend such a ball!
    i loved the line 'to a sound so haunting and macabre'
    magnificent

  • Vera Rich
    October 12, 2008

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    I came upon this poem by clicking on the "random" button. It strikes me as interesting and unusual and I wish you every success in finishing it.

    However, I do not think it is a good idea to seek criticism (however "constructive") of a work in progress. If you feel it is not yet ready to face the world, but you are uncertain how to proceed, then follow Mayakovskiy's advice and put it aside for six months or so... then when you look at it again, you will almost certainly see what needs to be done! "Workshopping" poems prematurely can all too often produce a patchwork that loses its freshness and individuality. Which in the case of this poem in particular, would be particularly sad