Phantom Love

You are my Christine

And I’m your phantom ghoul

We had to change the story

Because it didn’t follow the rule

First off, I can’t sing

But your voice makes me want to fly

I don’t think in my secret home

We’d have to say goodbye

There’s no Raoul to keep us a part

But the rest of the opera still shuns our love

There’s no angel to help us out

I’ll admit I’m not from above

While my skin wasn’t scarred from birth

I still have ugliness inside

But your love helps me through the pain

I try so hard to hide

We have several Darogas

Who check up on us from time to time

And we’re dancing to the organ

When we here that welcome chime

We can still rule Paris

From our underground lake

But we’d still have to hide our love

Until we could escape

But once we’re across the ocean

There’s nowhere I’d rather be

Than at your side on Coney Island

And hear you’ll stay with me

***

A poem loosely based off the genius of Gaston Leroux and all his proteges. For years, I’ve loved Phantom of the Opera, a timeless classical romance and the gateway of modern mystery novels. When I was younger, as most little girls did, I thought of myself as Christine. However, as I grow older and converse with the person my heart begins to grow fond for, I find myself in more of the phantom’s position. I desperately hope that our ending isn’t parallel to poor, unhappy Erik’s demise.