Hungry Ghosts - by D. B. Sullivan


They are very much alive, these Hungry Ghosts - they surround you.
Some may charm you into thinking that they’re more than what they seem,
But don’t be fooled, and don’t forget, their whole act is just a scheme.  
They’re dead inside, yet filled with pride, and no matter the words they spew,
They can never be appeased.

The thing that drives these tortured souls - insatiable greed from within,
Is coupled with a lack of peace. Tormented by the need for more,
Their gluttonous consumption is so strong that they can’t ignore
Their addictions and obsessions, an all-consuming mortal sin.
They will always be displeased.

They have huge bottomless stomachs, ready to take and take and take.
They could never consume enough, whatever that is they want.
But they have constricted throats, a particularly cruel taunt,
Which makes it impossible to satisfy that deep seated ache.
Their hunger cannot be eased.

They obsess about getting and getting and getting some more,
It’s never enough. Give them an inch and they’ll take the whole lot.
Consequences be ******, perversely, they don’t care if they rot.
They have no shame, no morals, and are constantly keeping score.
Their whole being is diseased.

Always feeling entitled to more, while denying the same to others,
You’ll know them by their selfishness, and inability to
Compromise. Their covetousness gives them no place to flee to.
Manipulation is their game while the soul inside them smothers.
All consuming, never pleased.

Hungry Ghosts have a constant craving that cannot be satisfied,
No matter how much they take, no matter how much they consume.
Usually, this behavior follows them from birth to the tomb.
Even if they are given everything and constantly supplied,
They will always be displeased.

They need you, and want you to feed them, they can’t do it alone
Their burning desire and greed makes them unable to rest.
Forever discontented, their satiety dispossessed,
Is how they spend their hapless existence, this hell of their own.
They can never be appeased.

So heed these words and consider this warning - they’re pernicious.
Beware of these low-lifes, these selfish scoundrels and abusers.
The more that they're fed, the more that they’ll want. Run from these users.
As fast as you can. Don’t give them a drop, they’re always malicious,
Lest your wellbeing be seized.

Fog -  by D. B. Sullivan

Wrought iron gates with heavy lock,
Guard departed souls wherein, stalk
The Earth with restless quiescence,
Opaque, spectral evanescence.
Wispy, fleeting, with muffled moans,
Haunting rows of sullen tombstones.
Mourning in deathly dreaminess,
Exanguinated sleepiness.
I’ve seen them there, silent shadows,
Wandering the lonesome meadows.
In the mist and past the churchyard,
You’ll see where the ground has been scarred,
With rectangular pits, waiting,
To be filled, anticipating,
The newly deceased mothers,
Fathers, sisters and brothers.
Crypts with bars and family names,
Gather soot from pyre flames.
Apparitions wandering,
With eternal pondering.
Look into the ghostly smog,
And you’ll see them in the fog.