Ghosts



Let me speak of ghosts.

In your closet, they hide as you

Ride your car and meet the world

They sing songs you try to blur,

Scream secrets you try to muffle.

As you eat your supper or pray in the evening,

they sometimes die down

Only temporarily,

They find their way back, most heinously

In your jokes, in your hints,

In your darkest, longest, and finest poems.

And sometimes, that eases them off, but,

Never – altogether extinguished.

 

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2 Comments

Prick my mind:

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