Ghosts of Christmas Ball
©12-26-2020, Olan L. Smith
Alone in night's wee hours of Christmas past,
The ice is bayed by howls of furnace blast.
The heavens lights shines from the cosmic dome
Where they do wake at dawn, perchance to roam?
Two souls, their ghosts be born in pain and chills
Of winter's gasp, and their sweet love will seal
With ice. Their angst does delve their want for joy,
For two spirits a journey, girl and boy.
Their fears bemoan, a passion breathes tonight―
Both souls will have their way, a break from fright;
These ghosts the king and queen of Christmas' Ball,
He felled their lives before the angel's call.
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Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
