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I am a ghost,a phantom of the past,
Not ready to crumble,but ready to last.
I am a ghost,yet singing of the present,
Singing of the light,for the darkness spent.
I am a ghost,a soul dry and dead,
Nourished once with happiness,now cold and sad.
Revelling in the nights of the lonely now,
Yet craving for the morn of the crystal snow.
I shimmer in the wake of the moony dark,
And whisper against the lighted sparks.
The dust ignores my footfall ,
Transcending from the moonbeams my smoky overall.
My mirror doesn’t say of my apparition,
And people don’t admit, calling me a fiction.
Don’t they realize that there are mortals few,
With souls bartered they are ghosts true and new.
They sold their soul ,truly a gory suicide,
The morn does approach,I seek to hide.