The flowers are rotted in the vase
the table unset and bare
the candles long snuffed of light and warmth
the music is silent and the needle off the record
the words unspoken drift as smoke in the air
as ephemeral as my endless cigarettes
or my haunted dreams
I whisper them to the shrouded stillness
unheard, unread, misbegotten
drawn deep of smoke and mirror
a looking-glass reflection of calcified eyes
Scan
Haunted dreams, haunting poem
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Thank you. My sense of language is starting to return now, a few days after the event. Your kind words are much appreciated
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