March 10th - Silver Goblets
In the empty banquet hall, All lined upon a table. Silver goblets in procession Like a long forgotten fable. Each filled with something different To represent the drinkers soul. Except in one, you see. You'll find only a hole. Now I could list you all the contents. Be they water, blood or wine. All neatly set in place To await us when we dine But I'll linger on the goblet Sat firmly at the tables head. No substance on the polished wood, So is the owner dead? Or is it something else I wonder. Something more sincere. Perhaps the answer's lost Or it's one that we should fear. Perhaps it the seat for me to take? Or the seat for someone not yet born? The goblet is still empty, dismayed And seemingly forlorn. Silently and suddenly The others are all drained. No hand was set upon them. No damage was sustained. Just a small hole in the bottom To let the elixirs trickle out. Drained by nothing less than Simple, mindless, doubt.