A small candle-lit flame
Lights the way
Along the dusty corridor,
Meager warmth it provides
As I shuffle quietly over
Warped and weathered floorboards
That sigh tiredly under my feet,
Blank orbs skim over
Hand painted portraits
Looking only for one,
I pause at a high arched window
A servant left it ajar
To catch the midsummer breeze,
Moonlight spills softly
Over rolling hillsides
Fresh with midnight dew,
Swallows slumber softly
So the bats fly on in euphoric glee
Unto the fruit trees,
Wistfully I leave
The picturesque scene
For my own bland world,
Moonlight leaks through the cracks
Of this high and lofty house
That only befriends spirits,
A gust of air stumbles down the hall
Only to tumble around blindly
Yet steals my flame when it sulks away,
I continue on without pause
The way known by my limbs
As well as my mind,
Hollow and barren is my heart
Since you left
For the bittersweet life after death,
I reach for your likeness
But fingers touch
Only cool, cracked paint,
Her portrait is gone
I hear someone screaming
And realize it is I.

~~~

"Whose cries were those
o' servant?"
"Why those were my masters
dear milkmaid."
"Why does he scream so?
Such agony, I've never
heard the like."
"His wife died nigh on ten years ago,
and long since has her portrait
been gone by his own request."
"It cannot be so?"
"'Tis. Ere' night he wanders
the halls in search of her,
but only to be foiled
by his own hand."
"Ah the poor soul."
"Aye and in the the morn he remembers
naught.."