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Esther Mar 2021
when do you think of me?
because i am haunted by you;
every time i step into the shower,
soaked in reminders to scrub behind my ears.
'dont forget to', you used to say.
no, even now i never forget to-
i scrub in remorse,
burdened by anger,
plagued by betrayal,
unclean even after my skin
is rubbed raw,
clung onto by your sins;
somehow, i am not allowed to forget you.

drenched, i can only ask your memory:
'when do you think of me?'
because i hope it is never,
just as much as i hope it is
a very hellish, 'always'.
personal and painful and not all that well written
miki Feb 2021
every night
you haunt my thoughts
the feeling of your velvet touch
lingers on my skin
i see you in my dreams
your voice echos my every thought
i wish you would go away
but all you had to do that night was stay
i know what i did was wrong
if only you knew what i knew

lurking
whispers
memories of lost moments
maybe it’s supposed to be this way
the ghost in the window has returned
he knows
he knows when you believe him gone
his patience
you cannot outmaneuver patience
he watched us grow
from grunts
to talkers
he knows what you are thinking
tomorrow
you can only win
by giving in
ask him nicely to leave
then beg
then cry
you may find peace
long after your tears
are dry
be careful if you enter the spirit realm. it can be a nasty business
Amy Nov 2020
Time never stops
For no one

You can´t keep living in the past
Expecting a bright future

Death is close
Will you dance with him?

The end is the beginning
Will you embrace it?
You cannot run
You cannot hide

It will keep haunting you
Until you cut all the ties

The past is not your home
Not anymore

Let it go

Or you will be drowned
Cait Nov 2020
A memory haunts
Forever following me
Through the day and night
This memory never leaves
This memory haunting me
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 2020
“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.
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