There are always waiting spectors
as morning’s penumbra ripples
where chants of the mind play
to an audience of one.

They shape the mist as dawn
expands and connects each breath.
The weight of darkness lifts to
the edges of ether, emptying
the private hole of self.

Slowly, the hours
open to the hovering light,
the soft burn of the sun.
Like an instant between
seasons, the clot of darkness
dissolves.

There on the edges of wakefulness,
unexpected color breaks open silence,
dispersing the night’s assembly of ghosts.

As i write
In my room
In the dark
I hear an beautiful
Sad
And haunting
Song
I try to figure
Out where its coming
From by my iPad and phones
Are charging
This is the work
Of a ghostly
Siren

I was prepared for the text that never came, the ones where you say you miss me, and want me back, they prepared me for those.
I was ready for the tears and sleepless nights, and how they would slowly stop.
You see when you go through heartbreak people comfort you and try to give you advice on how to get over them.
You know what they don’t prepare you for? They don’t prepare you for pulling up to a stoplight at 4:20 on a Friday afternoon, looking to your left and seeing the ghost you worked so hard to leave in the past. You’re not prepared for the way your heart stops and you suddenly have to catch your breath. There will be aftershocks of emotions, wondering what you should do. You’ll have this sudden urge to text him, Don’t! The aftershocks will stop, he didn’t see you, he’s not thinking of you, and this isn’t a sign.
Here’s what you do, turn on Taylor swift (Red album is most sufficient),cry it out, order pizza, and watch Grey’s Anatomy until you fall asleep.
You’ll wake up and it will seem that nothing has changed, but trust me everything has. You faced the fear you kept hidden in the back of your mind and came out stronger than you’ve ever been.

I’m afraid yet amazed
by the stain of your grace
and the bittersweet taste
it has left on my brain
of distasteful disdain

But if all life is suffering
am I right to feel strife,
when my heart can’t depart
that which has haunted my nights
with the stark darkness of life?

That knowledge alone
can only be known
by the savants of the Road
after finding a home
where only the lonely can go

But the common truth thats now grown
alongside wisdoms new throne;
is if you can’t bury the hatchet
You must exhume the casket
for the dead are only as dead
as the ghosts within your head

ON LOOKING AT SCHILLER’S SKULL
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Here in this charnel-house full of bleaching bones,
like yesteryear’s
fading souvenirs,
I see the skulls arranged in strange ordered rows.

Who knows whose owners might have beheaded peers,
packed tightly here
despite once repellent hate?
Here weaponless, they stand, in this gentled state.

These arms and hands, they once were so delicate!
How articulately
they moved! Ah me!
What athletes once paced about on these padded feet?

Still there’s no hope of rest for you, lost souls!
Deprived of graves,
forced here like slaves
to occupy this overworld, unlamented ghouls!

Now who’s to know who loved one orb here detained?
Except for me;
reader, hear my plea:
I know the grandeur of the mind it contained!

Yes, and I know the impulse true love would stir
here, where I stand
in this alien land
surrounded by these husks, like a treasurer!

Even in this cold,
in this dust and mould
I am startled by an a strange, ancient reverie, …
as if this shrine to death could quicken me!

One shape out of the past keeps calling me
with its mystery!
Still retaining its former angelic grace!
And at that ecstatic sight, I am back at sea ...

Swept by that current to where immortals race.
O secret vessel, you
gave Life its truth.
It falls on me now to recall your expressive face.

I turn away, abashed here by what I see:
this mould was worth
more than all the earth.
Let me breathe fresh air and let my wild thoughts run free!

What is there better in this dark Life than he
who gives us a sense of man’s divinity,
of his place in the universe?
A man who’s both flesh and spirit—living verse!

Keywords/Tags: Goethe, Schiller, skull, bones, charnel, house, grave, souls, ghosts, spirit, flesh, death, shrine, divinity, universe

The rain that poured on that day;
Made the trees wet and the leaves sway.
I stood under the shed behind the school,
Waiting for the drops to fade and wind to cool.
I shivered as the air blew my hair;
I trembled as the sounds sounded to scare.
And then when my eyes figured out a figure by my side,
My heart beat in my mouth and forced me to hide.
I squealed, I screamed, I stayed shut and tried,
To think and believe that my mind had lied.

But then he came closer and looked at me,
With an intensity that set my spirit free.
I lost the ability to form words and phrases,
I wondered was he a ghost that chases?
Because, if that were true,
I won't be able to run a step or few.
But then he opened his mouth;
And then I heard a voice that made all my blood run south!

'Its not safe to be alone in here,
The shed is haunted and you should fear'
I looked at him with both amusement and awe;
And pondered how beautiful he looked from where I saw!
Call me stupid or whatever you want reader,
Because he scared me to death not moments ago- but now was my fantasy feeder!

I took a breath and shook my head,
"I am not afraid of you"- is what I said.
He smiled an evil smile and held out his hand,
With shaky fingers I raised mine to land,
On his palm that looked so strong;
Only when I couldn't feel it- I felt something was wrong!
I looked up and found those irises piercing mine,
With all my might I fought to be fine.

have to find the center of a long alley
ice cream cones of last year, the craving
our way to the center, people buzzing over
so hard to guess the right thing of the wrong

lights are floating through the room, ghosty
at the center of the alley, we will find salvation
smoothen a path inside the snow of the past
frozen water, ice chunks, shannon, help me

have to find the center of a long alley
get me some ***** and a cake, let's go
eat it on-the-go, the best thing now is to go
your mental breakdown was the finest

for a long time, a long time, long time

The little child afraid of ghosts, ghouls and things that go bump in the night,
could never fathom being haunted by someone that is still alive.               The kid who hid behind his mother’s arm,
now stays awake at night dreaming of being in another’s arms.
The toddler who used to laugh all day,
searches online for reasons to stay alive .
The infant with the starry eyes and dreamy smile,
has forgotten what a laugh feels like.
The teenager who loved haunted houses and scary movies nights,
now cries herself to bed over lover boy.
How odd it is to be haunted by someone that is still alive.

Minutes, short puffs

hours fade away

and in the mist

I spell your name

you are fleeting

a ghost waltzing

through my hours

I grab at seconds

small beads slipping

between my fingers

I become my own hourglass

holding on to your shadow

and gliding back and forth

within nostalgia