Well, this is the first poem I have written since forever... I randomly thought it up. It's K because the younger children might not understand some of the complicated language. The rhyming/non-rhyming scheme is supposed to be erratic. I plan to write a sequel to this long poem, about 6 pages :)


Under the magical roof of pastel purples and pinks,

The grand ballroom starts to fill

Fair ladies disguised as songbirds,

Many more pouring in still.

Aside from the crystal chandelier

And the dancing floor ready and clear

The empty long table lies over here

Silken chairs waiting for guests rather queer.

A stage, a stage appears suddenly,

Violins, drum kit, guitars

Piano, and the guests wait with glee

For performers from afar.

Let us gaze from a bird's eye view

Over the guests and their masks red and blue

Look! A lady in a ballgown of dappled greys and browns,

With the mask of a sparrow too.

Across the room, a gentleman catches her eye

With a mask, misshaped and made of gold,

A smart suit and a cool grin,

His demeanour smooth and bold.

A demonic man appears on the stage,

Accompanied by a man straight out of a prom,

The guests, startled, look up in surprise.

Who are they? What are they doing?

At once, the demonic man clears his throat,

A formidable mask he wears,

Yet nobody is frightened,

Not a single guest is scared.

"Without further ado!" His voice soars,

Among the grand hall,

"We officially announce," to the guests' pleasure-

"The start of the Masquerade Ball!"

The demon fades in a puff of smoke,

Then a motley crew of folk are there,

Up on the stage, parading their costumes,

Each unique and individual.

They pick up the instruments strewn about,

Why, they must be the performing band!

The highly thought-of musicians

Revered throughout the land!

The lead singer, adept with the piano,

In a corset jet black as the night,

Her visage obscured by that of a raven's,

Feathers falling, midnight black.

On the acoustic guitar,

a young girl in a pale white dress,

her hair as white as a cooing dove,

A mischievous smile adorning her childish face.

Two bass guitars for two denizens of the night,

Hooded being and man with the face of a skeleton,

Fear-inducing mask, two hardy musicians

Ready to play for the eager audience.

The drums commanded by a simple devil,

Grinning as madly as one,

Now all the performers are prepared,

It is time to rock until the dawning of the sun.

Haunting strains of harmonies,

Drift through the halls,

Of false idols, and sleeping souls,

Bitter girl drowning in lies.

Adoring applause from the awed audience

The lead singer bows silently, amused.

"Thank you! We apologise for not being able

To be here tonight!" The words confuse the guests.

As soon as they murmur in confusion,

The musicians shine light blue and fade,

The audience fall silent for a moment, then cheer,

Their enjoyment clearly displayed.

The regular orchestra appears on stage,

And takes up where the band left off,

Elegant waltzes are played expertly,

Feathered masks bob and weave.

The golden gentleman strolls up to the woman,

And gently asks, "Would you care to dance?"

Her delicate hands are taken in his,

And together, they waltz wonderfully.

After an hour or two, the tired hands relinquish

Their death grips on the instruments.

The jovial dancers take their seats at the long table,

Seats are filled soon.

The gentlemen and his lady

Sit next to each other.

They both marvel

As the food appears.

Roast boar, meringues,

Treats from foreign lands

Courses fine and delicious

Are portioned to every plate.

The guests dine, and light conversation is heard

The golden gentlemen smiles at his lady,

"My sweet sparrow, I have a gift

For a beauty such as you."

The plates are cleared, the guests full.

They leave the table slowly,

Intending to obtain drinks,

As the orchestra now play slow tunes.

The golden gentleman hands the sparrow-woman

A silver goblet of crimson liquid.

Together, they partake in telling tales,

Of travels in distant lands.

At last, they rise from their seats.

From the pocket of the gentleman,

A paper lily, painted white is taken

From an imaginary field of paper flowers.

It is a valuable gift indeed,

Only obtained by the beings who use

Their vivid imagination.

The flowers as rare as rubies.

"My sweet sparrow, take this flower

And remember this night.

As I shall remember you

And your delicate dancing,"

The gentleman speaks softly,

"Allow me to give you my name,

Another rare gift."

The lady is overwhelmed by his generosity.

"My name is Raoul." He whispers into her ear.

His lady smiling with adoration.

She replies,

"Let me obtain a flower for you!"

Hand in hand, they pace across the dance floor,

To a glass door. The lady opens it,

And follows the corridor…

To a field.

The field is a beautiful sight,

With purple skies overhead,

And candy-floss clouds soaring through the sky,

And most notably, the paper flowers.

Entranced, she is taken by the flora,

And seeks out a flower of perfection.

Her keen eyes note a rose,

Guarded by flimsy thorns, paper thorns.

She struggles with the thorns,

And at last plucks the rose from

The sharp thorns,

With a sharp intake of breath.

The thorns, although paper,

Have left cruel red gashes,

Marking her pale, beauteous skin,

a payment for the flower.

She pays no heed, and hurries back

To the glass doors,

Her waiting Raoul,

Her perfect gentleman.

She presents the rose,

Raoul takes it, happier than anyone alive.

As it changes hands, Raoul frowns,

The red gashes starting to bleed.

"My sweet sparrow, let me take your hand."

She tells him not to worry over trivial scratches.

"I do not want you to stain your dress,

Let me see your hand."

He examines it, humming to himself,

And passes his right hand over her left.

As his hand leaves hers,

The hand is revealed, healed.

Where the thorns had torn her,

Her skin was mended,

The only sign of injury,

Blood dyeing her palm.

Raoul takes a cloth from a waiter,

And wipes the scarlet blood away,

As his sweet sparrow joyously watches,

His tender movements.

The clock chimes midnight,

Raoul takes his sweet sparrow onto the balcony,

Watching fireworks pattern the sky,

The lady rests her head on his shoulders.

As the orchestra plays a final, eerie waltz,

The fireworks reach a crescendo,

And finally, among the sky of many hues,

They remove their masks, and kiss.

The fireworks cease, as do the orchestra

After what seems an eternity,

The lovers come inside,

And proceed to the foyer.

Guests are leaving, masks hanging askew,

And exchanging farewells.

Amid the hustle and bustle,

Raoul helps his sparrow put on her fur coat.

Into the crystal carriage she gets,

Promising they will meet again.

Raoul agrees, telling his sweet sparrow

Of the next Masquerade Ball.

She waves to him from her window,

Soon she is gone into the inky black night.

Raoul smiles, hopping into his gold carriage,

Eagerly awaiting the next ball.

She had told him her name as she left,

It was a delicate name for his sweet sparrow,

Her namesake the flower he had presented,

A single white lily.

Two weeks pass,

Suddenly a sparrow flies through Lily's window.

She is taken aback as it chirps to her,

A greeting from Raoul.

Its' complicated whistling

Tells her of a Halloween Masquerade Ball,

And Raoul's invitation to it

Although the grammar is inaccurate.

She smiles; the birds' language is hard to master

And Raoul had learnt it,

Only for her,

And her enjoyment.

She gives the bird a message

To carry back to Raoul,

Conveying her anticipation

And that she will turn up.

So the tale comes to a halt,

to be picked up again,

At the Halloween Ball,

In a month, too long for the lovers…