Let’s turn the lights off, dance like lovers,
we have no eyes, but they who watch
show us how to touch.
Let us be your voyeurs in the
living.
Our time to walk among the flesh, not wanting
to say our goodbyes, and yet some go mad
waiting in between…
Love ones call us, and their tears cannot remorse.
Sometimes we laugh and play tricks, sometimes
we kneel and be silent.
Conjuring us with candles and chants, how silly
they sit and look, so serious while we are just visiting.
Why are we not wanted when this is our life, our feet
touching the surface?
I feel lost, losing my voice.
3:00 a.m is almost over, and again I will
find myself here, here in this place, restlessly
wondering who invades my home, only wanting to
sleep.
When I was a little girl,
veins lined the walls, strong
masculine…
Cabinets breathed in and out
as sleep etched on the mischief…
Long walks down the hall echoed
lonely steps…
At night fingers played footsie
to stay awake…
The invisible seemed to watch,
walk around translucent.
Illumination was my friend for years, while
the dark creepy crawled on shaggy legs.
Vampiric cold, iced on Southern limbs…
Name called on the melodic atmosphere,
answered in deaf tones.
Solid, watching me slumber, a gasp
emerges on liquified transparency.
They do walk among, misplaced, voiceless,
or keepers of our soul, traversing from
dimensional episodes, some reliving lives.
Respect these inner sanctums, the columns
of souls who will one day play in peace
on stone epitaphs.
*THIS IS MY OWN POETIC TAKE ON TRUE EVENTS THAT
HAPPENED WHEN I WAS A CHILD. ALSO, THE PICTURE IS
ONE I ACTUALLY TOOK OF THE FRONT YARD, AND IF YOU LOOK
CLOSELY, THERE ARE SEVERAL GHOSTLY IMAGES IMBEDDED THERE*
PoeticDarkness 