Masks and red roses

Tied with black ribbons

Gilded mirrors with faux glass

Hiding passage ways

A rustle of a cape

Was that a laugh?

Is he watching?

Is it you imagination?

Letters signed O. G.

Demanding his way

Accidents – and divas

Threatened by his whims

Keep your hand at the level of your eye

Stay out of the fifth cellar

Avoid the lake beyond

The Opera Ghost does exist

The proof?

The shards of crystal strewn upon the seats

Directly under where the chandelier once hovered

Grand and perfect

Now a mass of broken glass and shattered dreams

Like the hope that a deformed Angel can ascend

Back to heaven