On the third day
She clung to the handrails
Near the door
All the way back
Zigzagging in knots
Shining incandescent
With the sun
Chained to a swing
Piled in drifts
Of faces
Marching on and off
Almost invisible
To the way she
Clung herself
Constantly trying
To get my attention
Like tapping on
A ***** window
And only successing
On the way out
Like a feather on the wind
Breathless in an unfinished flight.
(From the ongoing series of 30 ghost poems. Get in contact if you want to read the rest online)
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
On the third day
She clung to the handrails
Near the door
All the way back
Zigzagging in knots
Shining incandescent
With the sun
Chained to a swing
Piled in drifts
Of faces
Marching on and off
Almost invisible
To the way she
Clung herself
Constantly trying
To get my attention
Like tapping on
A ***** window
And only successing
On the way out
Like a feather on the wind
Breathless in an unfinished flight.
(From the ongoing series of 30 ghost poems. Get in contact if you want to read the rest online)
