AN OLD LACE VEIL

A fading dream
An old lace veil
A frozen clock
A half hidden face
That stares intent
From windows pane
A nightmare gripped
Half mad half sane.

A pathway that
Breathes your name
Twisting turning
To the grave
Its inscription hidden
By seething vines
Yet somewhere known
Within your mind.

A cold chill
Of fingers blind
A rustling
That tries to hide
Itself from vision
Content with sound
The air is thick
Its silence loud.