Masque of the Red Death (Retold in poem)

February 9, 2010
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Our story starts very long ago,
with our light-hearted Prince Prospero.
He had many one thousand a friend,
and brilliant parties that never end.
The plague it soon blew in,
sending people on an incredible whim.
Then came the desire to be locked in the abbey,
a place for certain safety.
The seven room apartment,
that left the guests in a silent reverence.
Braziers that glowed in somber attitude,
It kept the people’s eyes solemnly glued.
The first room was decorated blue,
the furnishing and window matching its hue.
The second room was purple and bizarre,
leaving the other rooms quite afar.
The third was dressed in green,
like that of an elegant flower queen.
The fourth room was blazing with orange,
it left the visitors on a scavenge.
The fifth was white and pure,
it had the look of velour.
The sixth room was vividly violet,
like a sunset so balmy and a fiery comet.
And the seventh room brought thoughts most obscure,
for in its depths laid black furnishings
and blood red pain to endure.
It was the child of death,
for this was the room where one took ones last breath.
The ebony clock struck twelve,
and this is where the horror dwells.
A black clad reveler was the reaper,
he took in his hands the death and anger.
He murdered the guests one by one,
they knew not where the murderer came from.
Invisible as he was,
he increased in bringing them awes.
With death he had done is deed,
the red death was frenzied and bloodied.
The ebony clock struck its last chime,
with the very last death in this horrendous crime.

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