Bittersweet

Beneath the shroud of midnight’s veil,
A figure stands, a ghost so frail.
With raven hair, so dark, untamed,
And eyes like storms, forever framed.

His gaze, like oceans wild and deep,
Pulls me under, where secrets sleep.
A restless soul, a burning fire,
That sparks the night, and fuels desire.

The strings he plucks with trembling hand,
Resound like whispers from a haunted land.
A voice so fierce, yet soft as night,
A phantom veiled in the moon's pale light.

His silent smile, a fleeting tease,
A ghost that drifts upon the breeze.
Unknowing, he walks through my dreams,
A darkened star, or so it seems.

I reach for him, yet he’s not near,
Out of touch, a whispered fear.
For in his depths, I see my soul,
A love that burns, yet takes its toll.

A tempest raging, a heart ensnared,
In the void of night, where no one dared.
I wait, as night and day collide,
For him, the dark figure, to stand beside.

Like the moon that longs for the sun,
This love, though distant, is never done.
And though our worlds may never meet,
His ghost will haunt me, bittersweet.