A cold empty edifice,
Decrepit and out of place.
A girl stared out of the window,
with a bitter and rigid face.
Her hair was long and matted;
her skin was sallow as glass.
Her eyes held diamond hail
that silently fell to her feet.
Her hair was sinister as a raven’s flock…
Perched on the old oak tree.
Not really living, just…
Manifestation of memory.
The building was old and dilapidated,
apparently no one cared.
No one heed to visit her,
Visit what wasn't there.
You didn't call on what didn't exist;
she was there day after day.
Always at the window…
Though thousands of miles away.
When you called she didn't answer,
shouted…she didn't hear.
There was nothing for her to care about…
And no one to call her "dear".
Shadows moved behind her…
Reflected on the wall.
Slowly moving specters…
Only she can hear their call.
Always there in spirit…
Their bodies in the ground.
Never again to leave the house…
When guarded by Death's hound.
So many spirits trapped there,
until their penance is paid.
Kept in a place between heaven and hell…
Where all their deeds are weighed.
No sense of time to destroy them,
With nothing time wants to steal.
Time seeks youth, carefree days of truth,
through mortals' sorrow it gets its meal.
Some confined to the abode for eternity
a penance never to be paid.
Exiled from their friends…
All their loved ones betrayed.