I seat myself and ponder to realize I'm without a ghost
In the absence of my ghost, how shall my mind be real?
Lonesome is my consciousness, the ghost has smoldered
To a memory of forgetfulness, never has it been becharmed
Bothered by longtime sailing on my stream of consciousness
Is it a new way to live? Or dying with awareness?
There breathes the ghost its very last breath with a new dawn
By sanity I am ignored, "my only ghost, my only spawn!"
Is it a new way to think? Or reason without awareness?
