Quiet in the dark, I hear her voice,
She speaks in riddles with no rhyme,
I press my ear against the cold plaster,
But she will speak when suited for her.

A long, mournful, cry forlorned, listening,
I speak so softly to whisper my desire,
But she will speak when her time comes,
I must be patient and wait a lingering time.

So buried long ago in this cold wall,
Long forgotten, but not forgiven locals say,
To why her fate came to her that long-ago day,
Is mysteries mystery I now must comtemplate.

When nothing comes, just like a blackened  void,
I call her name, so frantically in an audible voice,
But she will respond whenever the fancy hits her,
I must sit silent in case I miss her frigthened word.

Enough with civilities in playing a waiting game,
For her icy lips and cold-stone stare will surely come,
When walls of regret are torn down in self desire,
And I will gaze upon her skeletal soul to so define,
Why she is lost and buried so in walls sometime ago.