The grey days go by,
Winter withers my soul,
Each snowflake
Is a tear not shed,
Each silent moment
Is a scream not heard,

The wind roars,
The clouds weep,
The stars glimmer in the distance,
The moon is hiding,
My soul is restless;
I think it's dying.

I stole a piece of gold my love,
And stored it safe in ores,
I stole the dawn that glows above,
To paint the stars of lore.

Beneath the ore; the starry night,
We lay there quiet and sore,
Treasure that was so bright at sight,
Remains dispersed ashore.

Regrets like pieces may align,
In puzzling boards of fate,
Your hands will scramble all of mine -
For that - a day shall wait.

Shifting shades that lack precision,
eye evading, vaporous vision,
fleeting flickers underexpose
ghostly glimpses that discompose.

Shadows speak in trembling tones,
mumbled murmurs, cackling crones,
bated breath while overcoming
stifled screams but not succumbing.

Befrozen blood stills hammering heart,
senses separate, perceptions part,
lost lucidity brings indecision
face or flee this spectrovision.

Shuddering skin turns pearlest pale,
hairs horripilate, portents prevail,
cold creeps craze a mind affrighted
spooky spectres come uninvited