Monday, March 4, 2013

Ghostly

Curling into your skin
Hiding away from yourself
And from life
Like a flower pulling petals over its face
To Hide from the moon
The moon a phantom rose
Blooming in the darkness
Take a seed from Persephone's flower
To create your own hell
For a day, for forever
A plump ripe seed for the planting
Harvesting only bitter fruits
Making a choice wine only for the lonely tasting






Lost wanderer beneath the stars
Scattered pieces of moonlight glistening far above
Look down coldly at the walker below

Fell down on your face again
Looked up at lost
Scanned the horizons of alone
Pale against your shattered sky
A dawn of slow goodbyes

Your hand moves in aimless circles
Over a blank page of white
Staring back at you the mirror of your soul
Blank, devoid of color, no pen-stroke slanting the delicate folds
Of potential, of forward motion, of action or success
The masterpiece has melted gradually
Faded into the farthest corner of an immense room
So your hand wanders aimlessly to capture a picture in words
That are in some unknown language that has no voice, just a cry
No song, just a whimper

Purple shadows against the sun
Bruise the brilliancy that once was so vibrant
Turn the vital into faltering beats
Against a thin, fabric sky

What was once
What has ceased to be
What lurks behind ghostly corner
A wraith of self
A denial of the hope that called you hither


A hand that once touched and felt
As deeply as a summer sea
Ached like a thin branch in the cold
Now fading... fading... vaporous... ceasing to be
An ocean of nothingness to encase the deep of a bottomless well






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