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The Wicca Man Sep 2024
Crow’s caw,
Wind’s whisper.
The muted bell
In the old church tower.

Moon’s rise,
Clouds veiling.
Distant voices
Chant in unison.

Night’s chill,
Breath clouding.
Feet tread softly
On leaves’ rust carpet.

Robed wraiths.
Faces masked.
Dread creeps o’er me
As they pass me by.

Now silence,
Air so still.
All sight shrouded
By a mist’s embrace.
Something for the dark autumn nights ...
heidi Aug 2024
Labyrinthine!
Like ghosts, thoughts of you
fill the decrepit halls of my mind
QueenOfTheAshes Aug 2024
Built a house to escape to
Found out it's filled with ghosts
Had to break my mind in two
To accommodate the thoughts.

They won't leave, they won't go
Only I can know
What a drag of a show it is to feel,
But to not be, alone.

I dreamed of mastering the dark
And I do, but now it filled my life
With truths and lies and masks in disguise.
Praying for light, as I muffle my cries.

And I don't break, I don't go
Cause only I can know
How to master the thoughts
Of a ghost in disguise.

I'm a liar and a cheat
And I pray to my own heartbeat
For it to stay and let me lay,
Down my sorrow and my tainted name.
Jeremy Betts Jun 2024
I don't feel at home
In my own skin
I run from ghosts
I do not believe in
To live and love
Has not been win win
I'll have to hang upside down
The next time you ask me to grin

©2024
I imagine ghosts exist, if only to float and dance through the mist.
Not remembering who or what they are.
They don't speak, they don't weep
Instead they howl, gut-wrenching
Echoing down emptied halls.

They pass through spiders spinning webs
brushing the dust off statue heads
Forgetting names, or important places
They don't speak, they don't weep
Instead they wander, broken
Peering through ***** windows.

I imagine they prefer to haunt empty homes
Places like them, left alone
Gutted hollow, naked rooms
They don't speak, they don't weep
Instead they haunt, barley noticed
Wailing for their names
Has anyone else been bingeing ghost stories on tiktok? cause...
Zywa Apr 2024
Ghosts see everything,

including us, like we see --


them: vaguely present.
Novel "Midnight's Children" (1981, Salman Rushdie), chapter 3-3 "Sam and the Tiger"
Collection "Low gear"
rk Mar 2024
our love was a loaded gun
the beginning
and the end
your lips grazed mine
before swallowing me whole
one last bite
of the serpents apple
the sweetest martyrdom
and just like horatio
i'm aching
with the anticipation
of your ghost finding mine
waiting for sleep
just to hear your voice once more
each syllable
still the sweetest hallelujah
even if we're nothing
but the whisper of a memory.
- stay, illusion. if thou hast any sound or use of voice, speak to me.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2024
Being in time,
to be judged
for being well and good,

or good for nothing, after all's
been said and done, and the books

been balanced, so be lived,
on the edge of realization, in mere
if on occasions, mere
instant of mere
what if.

Yah, the happy ifery everwas, once,

told, told to all the children, in the world,
by the likes of traveling salvation shows,
everybody knows, everybody don't
-0- reality starts at one, not zero

don't tell me your scripture told you true,
no, don't come to my wedom, and pretend

to know enough to say you know what I mean,
general I, any mind's I, is the I a' habit, ritual

morning washings and mind windings, set,
ready to say what the preacher man say,

say that, Yeah, like, yah, he know, word.

Manifest festive tests of mere concentrated
will to make a perfect Dirac one, from a perfect
Schrödinger one, and call it just what I said.

The point of everything that pierces anything

any wall. Any sign says This is it, no where to go
from where you …. went,
on second thoughts
Plancksecs in duration, sub instant, so fast

the point is pastless. Forget it. This is it.
testing tensile strength on a Rasta strand that rots at its roots, but we live in the same half true what's a man to do, tell the belivable truth, don't say, be,y'know.
LC
she moves in light
while I'm awake
renders mercy
for hearts that ache

she waits in patient
silent hope
providing comfort
a cushion to cope

she has no thoughts
of giving in
slows my breath
when air gets thin

as I await
the final tide
she allows a glimpse
of the other side

she is the reason
this soul can rhyme
with every season
her gift of time
LC is a reference to my Mother; Elsie, who passed many years ago but is always with me
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