November 20, 2017
"Mes de los Muertos"

 

A Forgotten Nightmare

 
 
 

A Ghost's Story: A Forgotten Nightmare

Nights are the loneliest,
when time stands still.
I drift as I roam
the dark corners of my mind.
My sons sleep, restless,
fatherless twins in slumber.
As I gaze at their faces,
Buddha-sent sons in slumber,
It is then I realize, with horror.
No longer do I know their names.
They have escaped me,
a flock of crows
flying free, afraid of me,
gone along with everything else.
And as I rage to remember,
my youngest son cries out.
He screams the scream of terror,
a banshee wail rends high.
And as I come to his rescue,
it is then I join his scream:
I cannot pick him up,
I have no hands to hold him tight.
No body to keep him warm,
no heart to soothe his fears.
Instead, I can only watch,
try, try to calm him.
Soothe soul, assail his fears,
what I did when I was alive.
Now, I can only watch and weep.
A ghost's cry rings hollow,
the grave whispers in the dark.
Yet my son knows I'm here,
don't know why, nor how.
He looks at my shadow,
long and tall by his crib.
Smiles at me, "Daddy!"
then falls back into sleep.
The moment has passed.
I'm so weary, so tired,
if I had bones, they would quake.
Instead, I recede into black,
as the night rolls on.
Caught in its undertow,
I drown in obscurity.






Article © Carl Wade Thompson. All rights reserved.
Published on 2016-11-07
Image(s) are public domain.


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