A dirty, brown mug, Cracked from years of tug. Passed ‘round like in the tales, Passed ‘round like the Holy Grail. The golden and frothy hooch swiveled and sloshed ‘bout, As people sang and danced ‘til the sun came out. A piano blared, A saxophone thrummed. Four raven wings fluttered and hummed, Four shadowy feet tapped and drummed. Masked faces passed by laughin’ and clappin’, While the dazzlin’ chandelier shines down in red twirls and orange swirls.
The pounding of feet echoed in the halls, Past deferred dreams and empty stalls. Bright lights, loud sounds slowly waned, Silence washed the void unstained.
In the corner of a speakeasy, perched on a stool worn and queasy, A man let his mind blow blank, Let the smell of perfume and sweat numb his thought. Mug after mug, he drank deep, ‘Til tiredness and sorrow finally did creep. And all that remained was the night’s dark shroud, Soft and silent, thick as the clouds.
By Ethan Zhan G8, ISA
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