Quickwords Vol. 8 – The Ghost

Welcome to Volume 8 of Quickwords, my poetry series. I’m not gonna lie, this one is more sad than spooky. I’ll save the spooks for October.

A faint hand reaches through dense haze towards the camera.

| Invisible for a day |

Raindrops pattered when I woke up
It was so wonderful seeing them outside,
I just had to leave that room
It’s a shame I didn’t get wet
But oh well. I saw someone back in that room.
Didn’t know them. Didn’t seem like they were having a good day.
Rope seemed tight, though.

No one recognized me
Or even saw me, I think
Oh, what joy, I’m invisible for a day!

I wonder where I knew them from
All those people
I can’t seem to remember
It’s a shame I can’t meet them again
But oh well. Most of them seem nice.
Doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t seem like things are how they should be.
Rain is nice, though.

I didn’t get hungry
Or tired, I think
Oh, what joy, I’m invisible for a day!

Not sure what I’m looking for
But I’ll find it when I find it
Got to see a lot of things today
It’s a shame I still feel weird
But oh well. I’ve been invisible for a day!
Don’t know why. Don’t seem like I’m a very cool person.
Rain is nice, though.

I’m supposed to find something
Or someone, I think
Maybe tomorrow. I’ve been invisible for a day.

| The Ghost |

The nature of business
is that it shall always
always remain unfinished to someone

If not to us
then to the next–
heirlooms are yet more matters to attend

Folk know and accept
the virtue of life
to be a perpetual path we briefly ride

Yet dare be naive
as to these echoes
in the afterlife we know not about

What business do we
choose to ever make
our own fruit of life? To start a garden we must one day leave?

The Ghost
it asks you before you cross.
Will it be the fool to have had a reason to stay?

Shake your head, if you may
and answer to The Ghost
that the only fools are those too afraid to have a reason.

May you pray for all to find their reason
and may your journey on
be as righteous as you.

| Me |

Tethered loosely,
Like tin cans to the steed of newlyweds
I follow myself like the ghost of a day without the holy present

For my being I am a ventriloquist inexperienced in his craft
Plucking at strings to control my every action
To think with each movement without an analytical mind
I am to spend brainpower I do not have
The strings grow longer at the food of my thought
and I float, an evanescent shade tugged along by instinct I am too afraid to trust

I fade.

Help me forget that I am apart so that I can be whole
Help me forget that I am a part of my own fragile soul

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