The Banquet Of Dread

The night is thick with whispered breath,  

As I prepare this feast of death.  

Witches slink from shadows deep,  

Goblins crawl while mortals sleep.  

  

The door creaks wide, they shuffle in,  

With toothy grins and rotting skin.  

I greet them all with eyes alight

Tonight, we dine in endless night.  

  

The table’s draped in crimson thread,  

A severed head, the centerpiece spread.  

Ribs splayed open, hearts still beat,  

Their hollow eyes, my gift of meat.  

  

A stench of fear hangs in the air,  

Fingers twitching, caught mid-prayer.  

I carve a limb, slow and thick,  

The blood runs dark, the scent—so sick.  

  

"Indulge yourselves," I softly hiss,  

"No soul tonight shall leave amiss."  

The ghouls dig in with claws of bone,  

The witches feast with guttural groan.  

  

The walls are draped in shadow's grime,  

As time dissolves—no longer time.  

They scream, they writhe, they gnash and bite,  

Feeding deep into the night.  

  

The moon looks on with hollow face,  

As I serve the final trace—  

A soul, still warm, writhing in flame,  

A whispered voice that knows it's name.  

The feast is done, the night complete,  

No heart remains, no pulse, no beat.  

All Hallows’ Eve fades to black,  

But they’ll be back. Oh, they’ll be back.