Beckoning Dream

In halls of dust where shadows creep, A canvas hangs, in slumber deep. A luminescence, sickly green, From hidden depths, a ghastly scene. A drip, a drip, a ceaseless sound, As cobwebs cling on hallowed ground. I draw me near, with bated breath, The portrait stirs, defies all death. A figure forms, with beauty rife, Yet touched by shadows, hints of strife. Wet hair clings tight, a mournful shroud, A smile that chills, proclaims him proud. The walls transmute, a floral guise, Begonias bloom, with cruel surprise. Their petals writhe, in forms obscene, A dance macabre, a ghastly scene. He beckons forth, with hand outstretched, A voice that chills, a soul distressed. "Welcome, friend," the phantom sighs, "Where beauty blends with dark surprise." I turn to flee, this haunted place, The dripping blooms contort their face. His laughter rings, a haunting sound, A gothic dream, on cursed ground. The portrait's hold, forever strong, A nightmare etched, where I belong. For in the depths where shadows lie, The line is blurred, 'tween dream and die.