I see ghosts out of the corner of my eye.
Shadows of the past, phantoms long gone,
Haunting me. Sleeping and waking, the dreamers
Creep through the tall grass. Circling my sanity.
Searching for the weaknesses in my reality.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Made of sticks and stones 
Reblogged this on Made of sticks and stones and commented:
Day twenty-four of my review of the last twelve months and here is a poem from the shadows …
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