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Riding the Night Mare

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Below is the poem entitled Riding the Night Mare which was written by poet laszlo kecsedi. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Riding the Night Mare

Friends and foes of flesh and bone from me they have flown 
A different company I keep in reveries of twilight sleep
When night’s dark blanket does fall, I begin to hear their call
Carriage wheels creak, horses shriek, I look, but dare not speak

Some appear restrained; others seem in good manners untrained
Pale complexions, faces unshaven, countenances dark and graven
Friendly words are not uttered, heavy hearts remain un-fluttered
After a brief admiration I join this motley delegation sans hesitation

Through sleepy streets we ride, through dark alleys we arrive
To our place of gathering - in silence, without any chattering
Far from city lights, under a moonlit sky an owl hoots thrice
As if to wonder, “Are these nocturnal creatures of virtue or vice?”

These ghastly preachers with ominous features invade his lightless 
Kingdom with a mysterious mission - in search of freedom, 
Perhaps driven by some demon, or for some other unknown reason
The owl has seen enough, so it swiftly flies away with a huff

In a ruinous castle by moonlight lit, at a round table we quietly sit
The ghostly figures each reveal packets from under dusty jackets
On the table they are placed, then with their burning eyes I am faced
This is to be a feast, my hosts are many, but guests there aren`t any

The packets are unwrapped, their curious contents are unmatched:
Flavors of love and hate, horror, and beauty, to devour all is my duty 
Some taste sweet, fruits of exotic flavor, I eat; everything I savor
Others brought blood to the table; to swallow this too I must be able 


I eat, swallow, devour, my hosts are pleased; suddenly I am seized
By a feeling of heavy heart and head, I enter a dark sleep of the dead
When I wake, in my mouth there’s a strange taste, in my body I ache 
But the ghosts` sustenance must be treasured, their feast remembered

Or else I`ll be dismembered, the dark treasures in the woods gathered
Will be retrieved and given to a more worthy soul, for their goal
Is to bring their bitter, bloody honey to feed the mind not the body -
The essence of life distilled by the dead in images and words I was fed

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