Reposted: The Feast of the Lost Souls of War

LostSoulsFeast

The Feast of the Lost Souls of War

He never converses
in subtle mixes of tone,
lingering speechless by
corners of dinner-tables,

his palate in quandary,
to left or right. To speak,
or not. Yet he warms toasty,
his back against the fire,

yields small hints of his
eloquent sex, sat there,
broad in his prescriptive
black clothes, black stock-
ings, gallantry ribbons

and white gaiters fit.
He’s a fresh soul at this
all-soul’s table – others
here have been feasting

for years on their tales
of battles and armour
and cannons and gore,
reminiscing as men do
on a world long at war.

 

 

 

Two prompts for this one: MLM’s theme of the dead, and Sunday Whirls wordle.
Today’s words are: subtle mix fresh hints soul lingering sex tends palate yields toasty.
Inspired by passages from Charles Dickens “Bleak House”

 

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