The Ghost

August 11, 2009
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The deep shadow of mourning
How well I know that armor
It cuts deep, stings
Lets others know you’re a person
Yet repels them with its rotting sheath

How she drifts
There and yet a ghost
Noticed only by me
They see, walk right through her
Reject that which mirrors complete pain

Her eyes pick my soul to pieces
Unwraps the putrid gifts left behind
Keeps them close to study at another time
Unseen, unsuspecting, now unbridled

I drift toward her
A fellow opulent figure in white
Close, miles away
Fresh bleeding wounds meet deep disfiguring scars
Hands touch, spark of connection

Eyes tell stories that hearts will never forget

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