Doth the wind merely free my fastened door?
I shall believe not, for I heard a voice,
A sweet cry of the woeful days of yore,
That hath stirred my bitter heart to rejoice.

But thine esoteric ways bedevil,
And thy cold, arcane touch comes unwanted.
I cannot find bliss whereout to revel,
Wellaway, thou hath possessed and haunted.

Prithee, foul demon, vex another soul.
Thou nostalgic presence comforts no more.
Thy skin- thy breath hath paid a lovely toll,
For bruised is thy skin, rotten is thy core.

Hark, apparition, cursed with ageless worth!
Thou art blessed to wander the damnéd Earth.