Work Text:
In halls abandoned, dim-remembered rooms,
a heartache beats a funeral march.
Ghosts, haunted in mechanical movements,
dance in their clockwork macabre.
Forlorn in the brief hours of love, her veil was
hysteria and her song absurdity.
Clad in rue, a discarded bride in an anguished
sleep, an Ophelia in quiet waters.
She is beautiful in her deathly visage: a still
life portrait of piety and madness.
Burdened by a heavy heart and a concrete soul,
she drowned in regret and longing.
The dull noontide sun, the chimes of the
church bells, love letters left unwritten.
There, beneath the willow’s trembling curtains,
she will stay never knowing why.