The Memory Intent to Haunt

I wrote this perhaps eight months ago. As you can tell, nearly all of my poems are drawn off of the same thing- which is quite obvious.

You are the tree that stands near to me
and remains unfazed from the tears that blur the eyes of she
that cherished you most

You are the picture in a frame
that watches her sorrow and stays the same
looking on with  a blank stare

You are the man that haunts her dreams
full of mystery, so that from her heart hope slowly streams
against your nature of apathy

You are the only one, quite true,
that reached her as none will ever again do
but she is, to you, less than  a memory.