a familiar ghost
Been a decade since I held this pen,
Now it's autumn falling off my head.
Missing the misery back and forth,
Only to realise I've been here before.
The seasons changed but the ink stayed blue,
A familiar ghost in a coat that’s new.
I traced the lines of the ghosts I’ve kept,
In the quiet corners where the silence slept.
They don't rattle chains or haunt the floor,
They just wait like shoes beside the door.
I find my hands still fit the mold
Of every secret I never told.
I’ll sit a while in the drafty hall,
And watch the shadows climb the wall.
There is no map for a heart this old,
Just stories waiting to be told.
It isn’t a memory, it’s a living stone,
A familiar cold inside the bone.
I watch the light start to subside—
Autumn passes by, but winter resides.
Oftentimes the shadows is all we have. To swirl amidst it's involatile mist. To dwell within it's unfathomable zephyr. The terrible misery is not that it's ineludible and woefully eternal ,rather it's the inexorable (the reason it's inexorable as we were meant to acquaint this specific doom and enlive amidst , through and beyond it) conflate. The astrayed flesh dwelling upon the rayless yet solidified chamber.
ReplyDeleteAs one shouldn't be miserably vigorous, sculpting invulnerable spirals, layers. Just to elude from the nocturnal warmth. But rather one should embody the starry hymns. Encircled with the blissful yet impeded remains. Soaked in the involatile crimson. Endure it's poignant yet canard reekness.
It's really good to know you've begun the stroll of doom and transcendence.