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cecil-millerPoems
A wailing ghost has found you. Foolishy, you hoped to be free. But that is how it plays with you. A cat and mouse game, you see. However did you get as far In the frosty, wintry night Without knowing your ache would return? How could you think you'd be alright? The haint is on your back, And chillishly shrilling in your ear. Maybe you did not bury your deeds deep enough. Perhaps that is why you fear. The awesome hatred is poured into your cup. A spectral accusation never is one in vain If it closely resembles the truth. The guilty perish, for crimes that are never named.
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Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
Wailing Ghost
A wailing ghost has found you. Foolishy, you hoped to be free. But that is how it plays with you. A cat and mouse game, you see. However did you get as far In the frosty, wintry night Without knowing your ache would return? How could you think you'd be alright? The haint is on your back, And chillishly shrilling in your ear. Maybe you did not bury your deeds deep enough. Perhaps that is why you fear. The awesome hatred is poured into your cup. A spectral accusation never is one in vain If it closely resembles the truth. The guilty perish, for crimes that are never named.
The beginning of fall, and the forward momentum toward my favorite holiday, have begun.
#poem#ghost#miller#spectre#wailing#specter#cecil#haint
cecil-miller
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cecil-miller
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
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