By the Spread of the Table

I attended a creative writing workshop this past Wednesday, and this poem came over me after staring at a rather morbid picture prompt:


By the spread of the table

And the thorn on my chair

The clawing of conscience

I do not dare

Partake of this grisly feast,

This ghoulish delight;

To say that I’m willing

‘Twould fill me with fright.

Man is not useless;

Man is not wrong;

The part of my soul

That objects is long gone.

The thoughts that knock once.

The fear that rings twice.

I break way the ties

That bid me do right.

To jump, to leap off this spread:

Hope’s in my breast

And it’s long since been dead.

Author: bethovermyer

Beth Overmyer wears several hats, all belonging to different writers. From fantastical kidlit to everyday popular fiction, Beth pens her work with gusto. In 2008, her screenplay The Method won best comedy at Gotham Screen’s contest, and in 2012, her MG book In a Pickle came out from MuseItUp Publishing.

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