In a way, you, my dear friends, are in the company of a ghost.
Why is this, you ask? Or perhaps you don’t ask,
perhaps you don’t care at all. If you’re expecting dripping ghostly green ectoplasm
or a white bed sheet with holes cut out for the eyes,
then you, my dear friends, have the wrong expectations. You are wrong, yet
are still in the company of a ghost. A ghost
holds on long after his time, longing for more time here with his dear friends to feel loving arms
around his neck, arms that are slipping, arms that shouldn’t let go, mustn’t let go, arms that continue
slipping, those arms are gliding off too quickly, too soon, those arms.
Those arms are gone.
Those arms are no longer holding
our dear friend. He cannot let go
because those once loving arms
have let me go.
This is why you, my dear friends,
are in the company of a ghost.