The window of the room is misted
The day should be revolving round
But you’ve lost your motivation for participation
You’ve retired away into a perfect world
In the room there are your visitors
You find them staring, watching with wide eyes
Your creations, they visit out of duty
Admire you for your skill
Even after all this time,
You still find them beautiful
The richness of red lips,
The pallor of pale skin
With each breath that you gave them,
Stolen from your breathing,
They were warmed by dreaming
Their glances, wise, know this frailty
Some disturbance distracts your attention
Your concentration fades
And with its fading, fade your foreign guests
Into ghosts and shadows of past memory
thelibraryrooms 