The Ghosts

The blacken ashes of that ghostly fire,
     Left embers flick'ring into the twilight;
All around figures seem to move entire,
     Let them go on until the morning light.

One look back as if in time I did see,
     Weaving a web of gloom she fluttered by;
Reaching a bony hand to press on me,
     I stiffened cold as she grew closer nigh.

Another form I saw from yonder stile,
     Waiting for one to leave and go her way;
The younger form came up to me awhile,
     Stood gazing on me for an hour I'd say.

Reaching forth did this younger form did take,
     Holding my hand I felt the coolness there;
She seem'd to linger on and I did shake,
     She kissed my hand and vanished in the air.

I got me out of that dark dreary place,
     Having seen all I cared to see that night;
Ev'n though I ran away at a high pace,
     Voices I heard behind me on my flight.

This dreadful taunting of my poor frail mind,
     Phantoms of darkness loiter 'round me still;
In yonder house of brick and wood you'll find,
     Traces of agelessness upon the hill.

Yet ev'n away from that cold dusty lore,
     I seem to be incorporated all the same;
As if I still went there like days of yore,
     And all that's left is Slaughter house the name.

Dark bone cold house still fills my gloomy head,
      Letting my wild and anxious feelings fly;
Watching behind me for those creeping dead,
     And if not careful I'll let out my cry.

All this I ponder inside my weary brain,
     This darken pall still traced upon my core; 
She weeps in darkness and her tears are rain,
     Her shadow never will move on no more!


~Timothy~

© Timothy 11 October, 2012