The greatest mystery left unsolved
No science no logic knows
As the great mystery now unfolds
The phantom known as love

The children know it but can't prove
No one on earth could lose
The greatest cure for all men's ills
The phantom known as love

It's in our hearts and in our souls
But can't be touched or moved
It's there for all eternity
The phantom known as love

It's often said its all we need
And though that we cannot prove
Without it we are shadow beings
The phantom known as love

It is the key to happiness
It is a gift from above
It's been here longer than you know
The phantom known as love

I am the phantom
That walks through the halls
Of your sad, empty mind.

I am the spirit
That reminds you, endlessly,
Of the reality you left behind.

I am the ghost*
That keeps you awake and afraid
Of facing another pitiful day.

On what use to be colorful.  
On what use to be sweet.
Oh how the setting sun bids us goodnight on the street..

The summer with you.
The fall away from you.
Come time the winter.
And the spring to see us true.

Its time to sing.
Its time to dance.
Its time to ride into the night.
Under the old moonlight.

I can hear your voices in the dark.
I can hear all of you talk.
I pass on by unseen.
As a ghost or phantom or perhaps a dream.

I wonder then is it all of you whom are
alive or is it simply us living in a dream.

Streaming
Endlessly
the days
Between now
And eternity
In search
Of you,
my dear.

No search engine
Optimization
will find you
for me,
'cept the one
Bold enough to
break down fractured seams
Of a disparate  reality

exposing
the trickery  
That is death.

Keep showing me
Your playful games
Keep showing me
Your light

Let it sink in,
The hurt
And pain.
The hole widening,
In the sunken chest.

Manipulating hands,
Plotting to no avail
Ways, to mend.
Two decades,
Plus a lifetime of mistakes.

Controlling, hedonistic pleasure.
Opposing selfless, selfish.

The firestorm blazing,
Engulfing and raging.
Burn the bridges.
Point-blank, BOOM!

Phantom, blood born,
Dead to me.

Suddenly I could taste her breath in the air, almost as if I had just kissed her.
But I hadn't, I was alone in my bed.

I'm haunted, by some sort of phantom pain.

Your whiskey lips
are haunting me
with words of
what if
and what could be.

The dream of us may be more damaging I fear,
than where life has lead us to my dear.
I steer clear from your gaze for all the ways
they make me feel like old days;

scared, insecure, miserable,
happy.

"I just want one kiss",
a trip into bliss that you'll miss.
But your phantom lips have left me aching
from the past that we have been making.
And that pain has got me breaking.
Daydreaming a life from which I'm waking.

Back to reality,
a life cast in duality.
The world stripped of sensuality but revisited at night.
A happiness best taken in sips, and although I've woken, my heart rips
because I can still
feel
your
lips.

Just know
       that wherever our worlds revolve to,
yours was part
             of the constellations guiding me home.
Like the stars,
       your light was a phantom of something
  I never actually knew,
                though it penetrated my heart so.

She is a ghost
In her own home
Drifting from
Room to room,
A phantom
Rattling chains
In the early
Morning gloom

She wrings her hands
And curves her spine
And spends
The night alone
Watching time
As it passes by
In a world she's seen
Yet never known.

I heard the phantom’s whisper. But can the dead really speak to the living? I numbed at the thought momentarily and then laughed off the possibility because science told me so. The whisper of the phantom came and went for a second time. So I questioned the occurrence once more.  *Can the dead really speak to the dead?