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alan-mcclurePoems
A certain quiet glinting in the corner of my eye a prickle-necked foreboding in a sullen winter sky An ultrasonic wavelength tuned to sorrow and to fear comes manifest, projected through my wish to bring it near A pressure change, a slamming door, a thought of things undone comes seeping through the paintwork for a bit of spectral fun And I can sit complacently and watch the show unfold My perfect explanations make me curious and bold I wonder how my brain will paint this misty-coloured scene What face will fly from memory where no face should have been I have no need for magic or for spirits of the dead But seek the secret passages that twine within my head And here it comes, as if on cue, parading through the wall (A weaker man than me would think his wisdom rather small) The wraith is clothed in folklore, stepping past without a glance And I would laugh it off but for one ghastly circumstance: For all my knowledge, nothing helps the second that I see That solid as I feel, this ghost                                                      does not                                                                        believe                                                                                       in me.
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Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
This Ghost
A certain quiet glinting in the corner of my eye a prickle-necked foreboding in a sullen winter sky An ultrasonic wavelength tuned to sorrow and to fear comes manifest, projected through my wish to bring it near A pressure change, a slamming door, a thought of things undone comes seeping through the paintwork for a bit of spectral fun And I can sit complacently and watch the show unfold My perfect explanations make me curious and bold I wonder how my brain will paint this misty-coloured scene What face will fly from memory where no face should have been I have no need for magic or for spirits of the dead But seek the secret passages that twine within my head And here it comes, as if on cue, parading through the wall (A weaker man than me would think his wisdom rather small) The wraith is clothed in folklore, stepping past without a glance And I would laugh it off but for one ghastly circumstance: For all my knowledge, nothing helps the second that I see That solid as I feel, this ghost                                                      does not                                                                        believe                                                                                       in me.
alan-mcclure
Written by
alan-mcclure
Scottish
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
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