Two ghosts haunt me.
With me in my bed and in the street.
In my writing and in my thinking.
One sweet ghost, one cruel ghost.
Their faces blurred, but identical.
Trapped, with me, between nowhere and goodbye.
The ghosts and I had long conversations
That never seemed to reach any conclusion -
For a mind whose substance is drifting and unreal
Cannot be convinced like
A mind of flesh and blood.
At first they were with me every hour,
Then every day,
Now I see them
Once a week,
(or maybe less).
And one day they
Will come no more.
Banished
By the sun of a new day.
And I have learnt
That speaking to the sweet ghost
Brings me heartache, for his consoling words
Are only lies and webs of illusion.
And though the harsh ghost is brusque
And does not listen to me
His is the truth I need
To muster my will
To drive those ghosts away.
Nobody else sees them
Nobody else hears them
But I walk through my day
With the two ghosts of one person -
The lover I thought I had
And the lover I had.
Both, now,
fading
away
This responds to Sunday Scribblings’ prompt to write about ghosts. And I’ve just renamed it and added a line to the second verse, having seen Michelle’s Tuesday Title prompt on poefusion, which fits it like a glove!
