The old ghost watches
Roses climb
Silent alone and reflecting
From a poets mirror.
Twisted candles
Like damaged fingers
Frozen in twilight
No longer hold a pen.
An immaculate spirit
Tender in its thought
Locked in a time room
Speaks Latin to future mothers.
\" I ventured, \" Repeats the mind
Opening the heart like a battered box
Red velvet, faded and worn
An old shoe in a gutter.
The best has gone..so save
In humility or its imposter
A tear for the memory
Of what has passed before.