I never can say goodbye

Beneath the moon's cold, silver glare.
The poets gather, a devilish affair.
Quills and ink, their weapons of choice.
Whispering verses in a haunting voice.

Candles flicker casting shadows tall.
Words of sorrow echo through the hall.
A waltz of despair, their final refrain.
Dancing with demons, embracing the pain.

The air grows thick with a fiery glow.
Laughter erupts, both high and low.
Each stanza a dagger, sharp and precise.
A farewell carved in poetic vice.

The clock strikes twelve, the end draws near.
Yet no one departs, consumed by fear.
Their words ignite, a blazing pyre.
A requiem sung by a ghostly choir.

As dawn approaches the ink runs dry.
The poets dissolve with a mournful sigh.
Their legacy lingers, a cursed art.
A diabolical dance etched in the heart.