It's the cold that suppresses
The dark ghosts wandering down the halls,
Flitting past the desolate chambers,
Which reminiscence the once old innocence bloom,
Now getting trampled by the rigid law of life.

The courtyard morbidly giggles,
Haunted by the mere estranged people,
Snarling contempt from afar,
Locked away in that nostalgic chest
with the engraved crest,
Forgotten forever in the dancing mist.

A moist trail leads up to a shadowy alcove,
Albeit a bit furnished, the demons still reside,
And the hands which raged a war there
Had forsook their only redemption.
The demons still prevail.

Affection graces the air around,
the language her castle has yet to learn,
As I blow the dusty sheet off the grave,
Interwining the dangling memories
To assemble her entrancing portrait,
Majestic,
Towering,
Perpetual,
In the smoldering pit of pain,
Emerging as the lost soul I never conquered.

By: Shaily.K