creative corner
The Ghost
The snow drifts down on the cold stone
A ghost should be insubstantial
flickering
tormented with clanking metal chains
My ghost smiles...
And memory drifts by
pale shouts of laughter
faint echoes of joy
quick freezing of tears;
all old pictures dusting into emptiness
until her spirit comes to rest
And it is left to me to fade
and haunt the earth