Feast of Midnight

You appear like a winter midnight
the moon's cold breath
reflecting on the snowy ground
a new world painted in silver and shadow.

Pale and perfect, you stumble down the runway
leaning on your imaginary courtiers
your aching features
frozen in a perfect pageant smile.

Breath of frost, you begin to speak
your crystal words
bounce from ear to ear
carving scenes of false gaiety in your wake.

Baring, discordant trumpets
signal your arrival at the table
seats fill quickly, hungry eyes
silently devouring the lavish feast.

The meal ends in silence
the final toast finishes the guests
you walk by, blessing each one
as you watch them fall.

You prowl the empty corridors
basking silently in the fading warmth
a ghostly beauty flowing softly
up the stairs, alone.