The Spirits at the Pub of My Soul

Deep in my being there is a pub
Where every archetype is served
In the evening I make a visit
To get what I deserve

My emotions are invited
All my thoughts are entertained
Every ghoul has his own stool
And every chin is stained

The bartender is mysterious
Invisible you know
His whispers pour his drinks to me
They appear from empty holes.

Today my pub is populated
With ghostly clientele
As my band of spirits appears on stage
The crowd begins to swell

The band strikes its first chord with me
Pyramus and Thisbe start romancing
That Hindu couple Shiva and Kali
Begin their dirty dancing

The Grecian gods and goddesses
All sit round their steaming bath
And Milton’s Satan grimaces
As he drinks his cup of wrath

Even Michael the Archangel
Is caught up with all the rest
The spirits dance together
In a Dionysian fest

Only Satan maintains reason
And sits there in a stupor
His own minions dance around him
Chanting, “party pooper”

And when the music’s over
My drunken ghouls begin to boast
In a moment of silence I clear my throat
And raise a heartfelt toast:

“Here’s to every spirit
Both the living and the dead
And to all those spirit’s out there
Of whom I’ve never read

Wherever your destination
As you stumble through the night
I pray you make it safely
And before the morning light.”