The feast of the undead

Napowrimo April 19th, 2022

Today’s challenge is to write a poem that starts with a command.

Resist the temptation to wax the unpolished and waned.
It is a fruitless harvest tasting of bitter herbs.
The undeparted should be left and unmourned,
Not sitting at table seats, they long ceased to earn.

Attendees at the feast of the undead,
Fleshless and obese, here but not here.
Occupiers of space they have no right to hold,
Tenants of the cold.

Self-inflicted lesions, bleaching engaged in feeling pleaching,
Pets of blood lust leaching.
We feed them night and daily,
Escort them to the table gayly.

Guests, without whom our table would not be set,
We, with them, devour ourselves,
We are the meat that we eat, that we feed ourselves, feeding ourselves to ourselves,
To satiate our great devils.

We chefs endlessly gorge,
We patrons of the everlasting supper fill our plates,
And we with this dish accomplish what no vampire could; or would.
Pull up a chair old friend.