The horn of plenty teems with fruit
that, if uneaten, goes rotten.
Once harvested from tree or root,
their flavor will be forgotten.
The horn of death teems with spirits
that, if unanswered, still remain.
Just as a flame in the wind flits,
they still bestow their boon or bane.
Seated at the table of life,
you eat whatever you are served.
The happiness, sadness, and strife
on your plate may not be deserved.
And once you feel death’s sweet release,
you’ll be the light that never dulls.
The table of life’s centerpiece:
a cornucopia of skulls.
Poem by Ghia Vitale. Illustration by Christine Stoddard.
Leave a Reply