In crimson silk, a silent bride stands still, 
‎On paper doll her portrait's fixed in place, 
‎Ghost marriage vows, against her absent will, 
‎Her painted smile, a mocking, cold embrace. 
‎She cannot bow, I guide her fragile form, 
‎The wine she drinks - a trickle down her chin, 
‎The offered sweet falls down to dusty floor, 
‎A silent feast, where life has never been. 
‎Where is my love? Is she by Yellow Springs, 
‎A spirit lost, a whisper in the air? 
‎Or bones below, where silent earthworms cling? 
‎This tablet cold, or this doll I can't bear to see? 
‎It matters not, though answers hide from sight, 
‎This ghost, this girl, is mine, forever mine