Every indigo night
Lost souls stagger
Right into the blue hole in the corner.
Where one would find
A room with spider-lights
And a table for every mourner.
A blue velvet curtain rises
And there they stand,
Music-makers, dressed devil-fine.
Order up a glass of the finest wine
But there is no food,
The music is all there is to dine.
They sit at their tables
And the music swells and looms
Like a bag of amethysts
That bursts onto a midnight dawn.
Then memories rush back,
The lost find their pathways
And the rest are reborn.
K. Jared Hosein
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rebirth-the-lost-souls-club/
