Ghost

 

Frosted windows,

A whisper in the winter,

Silence spoken by the walls,

Warm breath on the glass,

Pellucid whiteness,

A lone tree in the silver,

Clouded horizons beyond,

Pearls drop from the sky,

From a sprinkle,

Now an ivory squall,

A milken deluge,

The solitary timber entombed,

In the inclement marble,

The storm is now a breeze,

The breeze is now a sigh,

As still as a painting,

Dark and white at once,

I retreat from the window,

Frost buries the warm translucence,

My back slides against the walls,

Cold stone floor,

I close my eyes,

Vapours escape my nostrils,

A breathing piece of alabaster,

The only statue,

A ghost,

In this frozen palace.