he lived with so many faces
so many marbled masks
trapped in listless perplexity
they spoke no sorrows
but bore them as jewelry
on perfectly sculpted fingers
they have eyes of stone revealing nothing

evaporated waters
as wraiths they danced
in ghostly apathy
they rapped on doors
and stared through
stained looking-glasses

concerto of passions
breathing soul into clay
divine flames infringed
as demons deep within
his grieving empty castle
where dying stars above
expells secret riddles
no thinking man may see

he sees her in dreams
her veiled porcelain visage
haunts him endlessly