I’m open to the idea
Of spirituality, but not
A proponent of spirits
Walking out of graves.
Yet some people leave
Without dying, gone
But not forgotten nor
Are they anywhere near
Just listening, talking
Inside of my head.
Spirits in a way, body-less
Haunted by what they said.
There are many of them,
These ghosts of yesterday
Who captivated my life
Encapsulated it, and me;
Tweaking me around so
That there was little else
That was happening then.
Some were women, some men.
I’d forget for a moment
Then they’d come again
Making me look at them
And at nobody else around.
That's it, it was all that easy;
A glance, some chat and then
I was hooked on this person,
This lovely woman or hot man
From my teen years to maturity.
I fell for each memory and now
They come back again to speak,
Full of the same silent promise,
Aging not a bit, as if they hoped
To find just such a twit as I
To tantalize and tease, not please;
Those days are gone. moved on.
But the place in my heart for
This Marley’s ghost of emotion
Wide as an ocean still exists
Without the urgency, the heat
But there is still the heartbeat
And the gratitude that they
Took the time to share, to care
And I don’t dare forget or ignore.
I urge them back each time for more
As if i am keeping score in a book.
Maybe it is because I still lust
For one last loving look.
