Silent New Year

I know that knock upon my door. Her ghost appears each New Year's Eve. We never find just what to say, for time and destiny are mute. Her flashing eyes yet speak for her, and seem to make the message clear, reflections of regret and pain. Perhaps she sees the same in mine. But still no sound is in her voice; her words are but an anxious cloud. Oh yes I know this is a dream; for many years she has been gone. I will awake to greet the years, and shake off sleep's paralysis. That cloud becomes strange poetry, with words that fall like silent rain. But I still welcome midnight ghosts, within the hush of reverie, when apparitions come in dreams, to mark the ending of the year.