The Ghost

Day 8 of my Review and a poem that is not quite as creepy as the title would lead you to believe.

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Whirlwind Inside via photopin (license) photo credit: Whirlwind Inside via photopin(license)

It’s part of the bitter harvest,
Parcelled up, a gift from you.
Sealed by a kiss,
With every teardrop earned;
The very least I was due.

It’s carried on the breeze
These dreams of light, driven by machines,
Captured by my sails.
And you’re part of the design
With all winds steering me back to you.

With your touch like ice
Like dark and arrows aimed for my heart.
Because words once said
Will always haunt a soul, and this touch
Of frost was the least I was due.

This traveller’s journey
Has taken me to this crossroads before.
In search of a healer, not the cause.
Because you’re the ghost in my mind
With all roads leading back to you.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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