Last Supper

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: August 03, 2010

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Submitted: August 03, 2010

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When we were just a thought,
The silverware was placed,

In preparation of a banquet,
Representing all we faced.

And everyone we ever met,
Dined with us in that room,

And from the first meal onward,
A knocking began to boom.

A racket so consistent
It rattles every mind,

And like the Telltale Heart
On conscience it did grind.

Steady as a heartbeat,
Increasing with life's strain.

It constantly reminded us
What little there is to gain.

With time it would get louder,
But a callous we did grow,

We didn't hear it but we did,
Somehow we didn't know.

And at our last supper
With a thousand in attendance,

We planned of a tomorrow,
Never thinking of resistance.

The door that forever rattled,
Was then finally noticed.

But as always the knocking was ignored,
By the forever aging hostess.

Knocking all this time
Subtle, sudden, like a cancer.

All eyes avoid the door
That no one moves to answer.

We naively thought that all this time
We had finally survived,

But the guest we knew was coming,
Has finally arrived.


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