365 Days of Poetry — Day 119

The music, perfect and smooth about the air, tantalized the guests of old and new. It was the bond between the couples that danced among the simplest of hues; they were dressed in black and white, and the host bore royal blue. They danced. They drank. They became so unaware, for it was the hour of the highest moon, where no face held not a scare. For it was there, in the darkest of night, that death met all at purest of blithe. It was pitched; from there on, it was pitched.

– Brittany Rose


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