She may not be seen,
she may not be felt.
No noise she makes,
no breath she takes.
Don't make a sound,
try not to be found.
She might not be there,
but, she's always around.
Sleeping for years,
her soul broken down.
Waiting for fools,
her ruined mortal tools.
Seek not her form
bereft and forlorn.
You'll regret your regard,
your spirit well worn.
Your energies drained,
your passions wrung out.
She takes your life's light,
drinks all your heart's fight.
You'll find no relief,
no easy release.
Her not-there clutches,
defy all belief.
She'll hold you in sway,
you think you'll survive.
You'll never admit,
your life is forfeit.
Stand back, my dear friend,
don't let herself win.
I'll walk in your stead,
my life's at its cruel end.
--e.a.s. demers
Ah, the ghosts. We do feel them sometimes, and they're hard to escape.
ReplyDeleteAgreed - life sucks sometimes - like the dark poetry, though...
ReplyDeleteI feel her now.
ReplyDeleteO o
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