Wednesday, October 23, 2013

This ghostly thing

It swirls around us like a ghost
Howling with the change of moon,
stirred up over lips of grave stones
time has cracked like hearts
Past, present, future
Swirl into the same spirited mist
Until all seems indistinct
A haunting presents that lingers
At the edge of dreams
But won’t expose itself
Except in tea leaves
Nobody can read
I want in the rain and wonder
Where to turn to next
Feeling the drip of it
On my brow, dribbling
Down my cheeks
As if I am crying
And maybe I am
Over what I can’t fully
Define, or find in this
Swirling around my knees
As I stumble over
These grave stones
Watching the spirits
Rise up and take flight
Not even waiting for night
Passing through me
And my clutching fingers
This ghost of a thing
I can’t grab onto
But desperately need.

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