The Guest List

They met in rooms with velvet walls,
Where money hummed and memory stalls.
A whisper here, a nod, a toast—
Each smile a secret held the most.

He said they barely ever spoke,
Just names beneath a dinner cloak.
But flight logs fly and photos stay,
Though time and PR blur the gray.

No cameras caught the passing glances,
Just ledgers thick with second chances.
A plane, a name, a vanished thread—
The living speak. The silence bled.

The files remain behind a door
That justice knocks, but can’t implore.
The ink is dry, the list is long—
And everyone insists it’s wrong.

But echoes live where shame won’t tread,
And some still dine among the dead.