creative corner

The Ghost

The snow drifts down on the cold stone
soft silent white
company offering no solace
only obscuring the name.

A ghost should be insubstantial
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