(Without a Ghost of a Chance)
Glimpsed as aberrations of our imagination,
Which quickly disappear upon close examination,
These past, present denizens of the afterlife,
Are now dead ringers condemned to eternal strife!
Some are meek apparitions of lesser standing,
Who, when randomly met upon a stair landing,
Are no more than pale visions of a phantom state.
Ill-starred victims, sentenced to a haunting fate!
Often preceded by musty miasmic vapours,
Wellspring of grief to the living with their capers,
These grotesque caricatures of once living form,
Continually cause chaos! Refusing to conform!
These discarnate spectres, with ghoulish impudence,
Frequently display transparent signs of decadence,
But when spooked, the poltergeist or doppelganger,
Discharges destructive and high spirited clangour!
They, having expressed their wraithful spite,
Flee to nether regions in full fugacious flight.
Doomed to haunt those they eternally deplore.
Their eerie ectoplasmic state is for evermore!
These ephemeral visions, we so seldom welcome.
Are often too real to dismiss as pure 'bunkum!'
For these incarnate spirits, we know as Ghosts,
Are seldom well-received by their haunted hosts!
Rhymer. September 29th, 2020.