The Feast

Tasty morsels pass by lips,
Given to the teeth
Who, with up and down motion,
Chewed them to bits;
They then were sent
To the plunging of peristalsis.
All of it ended in the smacking of lips,
And sucking the dredges off
Sticky fingertips.
Morsels went round the table ,
Given to those who found it
Within them to have another
Wack at it if, yes, they were able.
Courses flowed round the board
Until, at last, the eating hoard
Signaled enough... now to enjoy a cigar,
And perhaps some Cognac by the flame.
None of these fellows were to blame
For their own fellows who had up and died.
I sat at the banquet of the soul,
And cried.