I can't hear
There's a darkness
everywhere

Spinning in circles
Drawing squares in the
air

Confusion reigns
while calmness soothes

Longing for the dawn
at night
Longing for the night
at dawn

Wanting to be alone
when together
Missing you every
second we're apart

At work watching
the clock
At home restless
not knowing what to do

There is a road
that goes
There is a home
that stays
I'm sure there's a way
Never heard them say -
it was easy being
human.

For years I had heard stories about the Hawthorne Library,
that it was haunted,
especially the basement  
where the 19th Century books were kept.
For this reason, people tended to stay away
from the ground floor.
I had also heard that they were going to close the Hawthorne soon,
so I decided that my next ghost hunt would take place there.

Two days later, about 30 minutes before closing,
I entered the Hawthorne with my bulky camcorder
tucked neatly in my backpack along with a sandwich and coke.
It was a crisp December night and about an inch of snow had fallen,
leaving the library nearly empty.

I worked my way towards the stairs leading to the basement,
and when certain I wasn't seen,
made my way down the stairs.
I was alone.
It was colder down here as the heat made it's way up
to the higher floors.

At 9 pm, the lights went off as they closed,
and the heat was turned down.
What latch was that she just turned? I must be hearing things.
I heard the front door close and
I was alone,
here in the basement of the Hawthorne building.
The only light I had was the street light that barely made
its way through the ground level's 100 year old window's
thick glass and steel bars.

I settled into a corner and waited for my eyes
to adjust to the darker conditions.
I placed a 90 minute tape in my recorder
as the wind whipped outside
and the snow blowing about
made eerie shadows on the walls.

One story tied to the Hawthorne
was the tale of 8 year old Melissa who had wandered from her mother
to the stairs leading to the basement.
Before she turned back,
the door swung,
hitting her and sending her tumbling down the stairs
to her death.

The Librarian,
who disappeared one day
only to be found the next,
huddled in one corner of the basement,
the victim of an apparent heart attack
at 28 years of age.

There were more stories,
but I blew them off as urban legends,
a little truth surrounded by years of
creative storytelling.

It was getting really cold...
did they turn the heat off completely?
I gulped the remainder of my ham sandwich
and decided to get started.

Before I could turn the recorder on,
I thought I heard a voice,
a whisper really... a small girl.
I finally located the 'on' button,
fighting to keep it steady.
Again I heard the whisper;
'why are you here?' followed by a giggle.

What is your name little girl?
Another giggle from the same direction,
then it circled me.
Never, in all my experiences of conversing with the dead,
had I heard a voice so clear as this.

'Last night' it repeated...
3 or 4 times as she giggled...
'last night, last night, last night'
'what do you mean...last night?'

'Last night for the Library, silly...
didn't you know?'
suddenly, I heard laughter coming from all corners
of the basement
it became louder and louder...
'Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!'
a deafening male voice half choking on his laughter...
'But you won't be alone...
'Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha...' a pounding, gurgling laugh...
'No, you won't be alone...Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha........'

They said I died from exposure
when they opened the basement
six months later to begin renovations.
Seems the Hawthorne was going to become
an apartment building.

But I was dead long before my body froze.
They'll discover this fact when they find my camera
on the shelf
right next to
'The Tell Tale Heart'  
...her favorite book!

And when my mind
Is finally gone
No recall
Of what went wrong
Memories blurred
No longer cursed
Judged and blessed
Of all my worth

I will set quietly
In happy thoughts
Awaiting the stages
Where death is lost
Where you and I
Shall meet again
Hearts in minds
Behind our pens

No need to believe
In promises made
Entropy is
An eternal phase
.............

strangers become comfortable after a time
and the stoic faces of the old
are alive when they are free to tell their stories
this is what I live for
the stories

the orbs that roam the mountainside at night
many years after the crash that took all aboard
the lights that flicker same time every year
on a deceased husband's birthday
the cries of a child calling for her mommy
repeated each night
looped in time
down the halls of this 300 year - old brick house
where her mommy died from a fall

I have known the gentle touch of a kind spirit
and the angry wrath from the darkest of entities

I did not seek these gifts
they were given
and I follow with open mind and soul
for I live in the peace and comfort
of what this awareness provides
that there is more
much more
beyond this final breath

Floating in an expanse, trapped in a room
the walls could be the ends of a universe,
or a martyr's doom,
and I count the atoms of its shifting embrace
it dances within sight, but ever out of reach
truer things have never been more curious
the walls are my castaway beach.

Endless journeys coil within me,
my mind is a boundless jungle:
the predators linger in hazy umbra,
while the prey lazily graze
with eyes diametrically opposed.
I am some sort of misshapen construct,
a being lost to himself, but a target nonetheless.

****** into the deep
from which secrets sweetly seep
I find answers to keep
demystifying puzzles caged by sleep
the malice in this wonderland
nibbles at the soul with perilous teeth
just to taste the suffering
of a man who's trapped beneath
beneath the undergrowth of the city
within the fissures of a sidewalk
betwixt the folds of a chewing gum wrapper
he is gnawed by the everafter,
the what if,
the may be,
maybe.

Perchance he truly listened to the bright void
oh, how it oozes soft, eldritch light
the essences of somber dealings with ethereal misfits,
whatsay he consumed the knowledge whose
questions
once consumed him?

We all imagine that he would be
empty of emptiness...
but is there such a thing?