Know the signs so it does not happen again.
Know the signs so others are not ensnared.
Know the signs before it is too late.
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Your heart has its haunted chamber,
Where the silent treatment falls,
On the floor are stalking footsteps,
Malicious whispers along the walls.
Though your perfect love is manifold,
This chamber will still persist,
Its lingering hurt and sadness,
Is decreed to always exist.
No matter how you shine and smile,
‘Tis a place of frigid cold,
That now no love, no joy, no care
Can relinquish its endless hold.
Your heart these times is haunted,
By phantoms of our past,
So insidious is the infection
It seems it will always last.
A form sits by your window,
Always in your corner eye,
Waiting and watching all night long
Yet never answering why.
I sit there in the moonlight,
Hatred etched across my face,
And point a blaming finger,
To avoid my own disgrace.
I haunt your heart and memory,
My poison flows yet still,
To remind you of your treachery,
And to scold you for causing me ill.
Each lonely darkened midnight,
You will hear my accusing wail,
The bitter and twisted arguments,
Still remain beyond the pale.
This phantom’s baleful glare,
Seems to absorb and drain your will,
The remembering of torment,
Places in your heart sick chill.
My haunting clouds your remembrance,
All else becomes thin air,
The shadows form and twist now,
So you always see me there.
The knock upon your window pane,
Wrenches your thought from me,
A relentless drumming announcement,
From the gloomy darkened tree.
There stands our oak, rain-slicked, boughs bent,
A place that was sanctuary,
We climbed it often together,
To imagine being free.
Yet now near lifeless monument,
It serves only to torment,
The greying bark and sorest wounds,
Form the night’s empty lament.
I know you look there still each night,
I know you see me there,
The haunting of your aching heart
Ne’er relieved by earnest prayer.
Your chained and weighted pensive guilt,
Is naught to my own hell,
But yours is bound in silence,
Since you can never tell.
Beneath the oaken branches,
Is the grave of that little child,
Who fell from grace so violently,
And never wept nor smiled.
So your heart remains an empty chamber,
Where my hatred will reside,
And evermore I will punish you,
For what you have always denied.
What once shone bright and golden,
Is dulled and tarnished deep,
And the memory of your failings,
Will steal away your sleep.
I blamed her then so I blame you now,
It all must wither and turn bad,
Since I have no hope but to see you
As the parent I never had.