Looming grotesque gargoyles
Shadows and light bend
Silence dances through the halls
Darkness is his friend

Space stretches all around him
No damage can be done
Lots of room to move about
And windows allow sun

At night the stars shine through
A great gap in his roof
He looks out over the old town
But cannot feel aloof

She lives her life in that town
Trapped in its routine
But since he'd come to live there
That life had lost its sheen

She stares up at his castle
And wonders if he's there
And if he still has thoughts of her
She hopes that he still cares

It comes again this year
As every year since then
Ice shavings borne as snow
Stream out from his dark den

She climbs into his garden
A tribute to his hands
Those things that bring destruction
Yet mold and sculpt his lands

One lonesome hand is reaching high
His silent cry of shame
For what he is, and cannot be,
Carved out in bushes tamed

She enters through those dark gates
No homeless orphan waif
For in this house of spectres
She alone is safe

Up the stairs she clambers
'Round the twisted way
Till she spies him at his work
Shaping ice like clay

His hands, or rather, scissors, fly
Along the white-lit face
Of angel rare with flowing hair
And dress of fragile lace

Her face upturned and laughing
Hands reaching for the sky
But on his features, moonlight shows
An agonizing cry

His face is cut and flowing
His tears are mixed with blood
He weeps upon its icy breast
Stained red with scarlet flood

She flees the room in anguish
And agony of heart
For his face still haunts her
His piercing gaze a dart

Out through the sculptured garden
And past the wild grown trees
Back to her perfect, structured life
Symmetrically free

No differences or oddness
No fantasy on whim
But then no Edward Scissorhands
To say, "I love you, Kim."