The dance of the ghosts
In the fading twilight.
A bob of the head,
A whimper and cower,
The walls filled with whispers,
The door in a mirror,
Her eyes filled with blood,
Les yeux de la mort en azure.

The love was real
Immortal and sweet.
We cuddled with darkness
Advancing around us.
One hope, One chance,
One slip through the cracks
In the wall and my fingers.

I woke and I ran,
I tried to catch up,
Tripping with every step,
Arrows from the tongue
Stinging the soul.
I died clutching for the mist
That was her green eyes.

Reborn yet still alone,
I saw her again.
The paintbrushed hair in reverse,
The mirrored temptation of shame,
The heartache of loneliness,
The beautiful angry lifeless eyes of love.

I hated her
As she danced on my grave
In the moonlight.
I laughed and I cried.
The friend I always wanted,
Not a real ghost,
But a ghost you can touch.
Those puppy dog eyes,
The ghost of a real ghost.

I slumber alone now
In my dark room
Forever and ever,
And adorning my tomb,
Is her beautiful dance,
The inscription which writes,
“Give me one ghost in place of another.”

– Voltaire