If ghosts were real,
they would be rather sad beings.
Their transparent flesh
shows white bones.
Their secrets spill out of the gaps.
If ghosts were real,
they would find it upsetting
to be ignored by even the loneliest person.
They would hardly be acknowledged.
But if they were, it would only be in fear.
If ghosts were real,
they would feel the most terrible regret.
Questions, left unasked and unanswered
lay rotting in their brain.
Like their bodies under the soil.
If ghosts were real,
they would have no choice
but to confide in each other.
They are the only ones who can see
the shimmering forms of those like them.
If ghosts were real,
they would be rather sad beings.
But at least they have one another
to confide in.
Without judgement, without fear.
- An ode to the spirits of the deceased.
YOU ARE READING
My Heart.
PoetryHere I give you my heart. All of me. The parts I love and the parts I hate. I give you my poems. Which is to say I give you my life, my soul, my story. - About this book.
