Once upon a midnight nightmare, deep into the dead of shadows' glare,
A poet stood in the dim and flickering light.
Appeared before her in the moon's pallid sight,
A ghostly figure, draped in mist,
A reflection of a reality that didn't exist.
Its eyes hold the curse of every love she'd known,
Its whispers echoed the pain of the hearts withdrawn.
Shifting shape with every memory,
But its cold touch broke her reverie.
"Tell me, phantom, why you are here?
I have no wishes left and thus no fear."
The ghost mirrored her eyes with a look of sorrow,
Then it came its voice, icy and hollow,
"Ah, poet, why do you still yearn,
For a love's embers that never again burn?
Illusions of perfection sought, in a heart never truly caught."
As the specter taunted her soul, she saw her folly...