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M R White 23h
I wear him silently. It's been two years. But somehow, he still racks my bones.
Anger is a heavy emotion. I wear it silently. I think too often. My mind is riddled with age old anxieties, of not being enough.
For him. For my mother and father. For my sister. For myself.
Where does it end? When do I forget about the freckle, neatly placed on his top lip? How I fit like a puzzle over him? I wonder if he thinks of me from time to time.
I hope I haunt him, the way he haunts me.
Did it crush him when I filled his void so soon? It crushed me.
I often think I am the issue. I should save people from my path of hellish destruction.
But I continue to fill The Void.
**** in da feels, i dont even like u anymore tf.
Jay M Mar 2019
I sing myself a quiet lullaby,
The melody haunting,
I stand wraith-like in the moonlight,
My flesh paler than my ashen soul,
"Just a little while longer..."
Comes my cry,
My hand extended to an unseen figure,
In their own so terrible,
Bringing me to life with a look in the eyes,
So beautiful, reflecting that gentle soul,
"Come back to me, dear one",
I call, but all is silent.

- Jay M
February 21st, 2019
since the first words fell from the darkness
like a feather in the night
I have entered these pitch black corners
where they wait for me
my curiosity has always outweighed my fear
but these words have been greatly tested of late
a new veil has been lifted
a new test has presented itself
my name spoken
as the spectre hovered above
objects move shortly thereafter
the words 'We get you' from a female
whose voice I have heard before
cuts the silence and tickles my spine

they are not one or two
but many souls
many voices
in a room of great size
they drift in and out
allow me in
and I will tell you
they are truly frightening in their clarity

I have taken some time away
but I am being drawn back
for the flame of curiosity cannot be snuffed
I will enter again
my fear quelled
my desire to know more
burning within
my latest experiences have reached a level that has given me pause
Don Bouchard Oct 14
“Haunted Houses” (1858)
All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table, than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.

We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
And hold in mortmain still their old estates.

The spirit-world around this world of sense
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.

Our little lives are kept in equipoise
By opposite attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
And the more noble instinct that aspires.

These perturbations, this perpetual jar
Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star,
An undiscovered planet in our sky.

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
Into the realm of mystery and night,–

So from the world of spirits there descends
A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.
In honor of this "spooky" season, I bring before you one of Longfellow's excellent poems. I am now thinking of writing my own "ghosts" poem about our family home in Montana. Whenever I go there, I can hear and see my long gone family members. Each place on the old farmstead carries memories. Perhaps you, too, have such recollections that haunt you in sweet or for bitter memory.
Leifa Oct 9
Weeping Winter
Deigns his spine
In small whispers of magic.

The fingers of a ghost
He Almost
Mourned the loss of them.

Until he tastes
The fruit of rot.
And felt
Old daggers in the dark.

Like a drop of dew
In Summer heat,
He recedes towards the Sun

To await the Winter Mourn
And scorn
A mother of her forgotten son.
I'm lying on My lawn,
beneath a sky that's blue.
In search of poetic words,
to compose, a Poem for U.
Words suddenly come pouring,
as grey clouds pass by.
Thunder grips the earth,
As lightning scrawls the sky.
I'm reminded of good times,
We both spent together.
Those golden moments,
I wish......had lasted forever.
Your haunting voice,
still echoes in My head.
I'm now a lonely soul,
who wishes He was dead.
Rhys Hebbs Sep 28
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
Elena Mustafa Sep 28
a nice muslim girl
Was the victim of her
Lovers ghost
The ghost of a Saudi
Prince
Whom loved her
And her the same
He committed suicide after
His beloved accused
Him of unspeakable acts
When ever
The girl slept
Her late lover
Would come from the
Darkest recesses of her mind
And appear in her nightmares
****** from the neck down
As he slit his own throat
Asking her why
She betrayed him
After the shared something special
He would haunt her in her nightmares as
****** Faisal
Or the arabian ghost
If you say ****** faisal
3 times
He will show up
In your nightmares
A tormented soul in the earth
And the hearafter
"write a poem,"

Sylvia Plath commanded summer before last.
Her voice in all places I looked.
Avoided and silenced letters
Crawled in front of my mind and knocked on my skull:
A polite entry into their society with a family,
Other words in Gregorian chant:
You cannot undo insanity in the third decade.

I tell the others, the eyes around me, that these words
Feel like birth announced just now,
With no time to prepare or plan, to nest and caress
The down feathery face, or kiss his tiny mouth.

A poem emerges with a scream,
Bony hands encircling my throat and pushing
Into formation. The existence of new words--
Always the ones in the language before,
Though in this birth the roots twist under the tree.
C Conner Sep 23
Yards before us smoke pillars call
Triumphant I allow an exhausted smile,
Imagining bagpipes and penny whistles
Echoing over formidable hills. All great fall
Deserve a dramatic dirge.

Moving shadows turn paces pale;
Flashes of blue - uncertain sound.
Out from the east great warriors
Stood tall against the flash of steel - honor fell.
Swallows fly overhead.

Before me hidden an amazing sight
Pain like an avalanche frozen
Through till I cried
One great stroke stole my fight
As scalding water seems icy.

Envious hot lead tore through my side
Splintering a rustic fence post behind
Me - filled with life overgrown like
The rivers edge a beautiful divide
Attacked by creepers.

My knees forgot old pain
Before me your face - I breath last words -
Your name, and my hands
Become mountain water from chilled rain.
Your eyes speak love.

The sky turns gray
Reaching out for you the air catches me -
Sweet smell of decay, and the cold sod feels comforting.
For you I sink today.
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