Banquet in the Grave

Skeleton hands, dusty bones,

Fragile glasses half full.

Bony fingers pinch off bread,

Banquet turkeys not whole.

Staring sockets, missing eyes,

Gaze at tables of wood;

Boards of oak, lacy fabric,

Putrid, bug eaten food.

Rotten cloth covers bones,

Flesh dissolved from the frame;

Bizarre smiles cover lips,

That have perished to shame.

Dancing dead, halted tunes,

All is frozen in time,

Horrid couples, once alive,

In the world, spiders climb.

Molding grapes, blackened fruits,

Confection sweets once divine,

Filling stomachs now decayed,

And steeped in aged wine.

Sleeping children, dancing tots,

Crying babies, all dead.

On bony knees and satin cloth,

A child lays her head.

Creeping bugs crawl in hair,

That has crumbled away;

Nesting flies hide in lungs,

They are here to stay.

Potent pipes, clutched in teeth,

Dust infiltrates the ash,

Pompous gold, faded jewels,

That once used to flash.

Painted faces, ladies pose,

In a gaudy array,

Silken dresses fall from shoulders,

Moths have eaten away.

Laughing gents pinch the ladies,

Grotesque faces of mirth,

Once a ball, once a feast,

Now condemned to the earth.

All were dancing, all had sung,

Until the ceiling it gave,

Now they're imprisoned and ensnared,

In their banquet so grave.

A/N: This seems a little choppy to me, but maybe it's just me? Critique.