poetry

Pleasantly Haunting

This place is full of ghosts.

They exist in the gloomy light of

Corpse-coloured candles

In those dark cottage walls,

Lingering with a ghoulish fondness.

I find myself drawn to remain also.

Perhaps these melancholy ruins offer

More than fear;

They invite somber reflections-

Reflections of the living as well as the dead-

And I find it pleasantly haunting

To explore the shadows

That hint at the brief spans of life

That may have walked these halls.

Although I worry our friends may have haunted too long;

Now they creak and moan at the slightest breathe

Across the stairs;

Wail and whine at the smallest strain.

You see,

These quiet graves are full of noise;

Full of grave suggestion

That perhaps we cannot die.

We’re fated to pace these cold floors forever-

Bound by footprints left in dust;

Tied to ballads about lives we can no longer mind

But the world decided to remember.

On Writing · poetry

Moonlight and Despair

I’m brooding over a mug

Of black coffee at 4am,

Trying to warm my cold bones

And broken heart…

Oh please,

I drink green tea

After my morning yoga;

I’m about as happy as it gets.

Unfortunately mountains poses

And sunrise

Don’t sell quite as well

As moonlight and despair.

poetry

Bury the Hatchet

Bury the hatchet,

Or better yet burn it

And scatter the ashes so far across the sea

We stand no chance of digging it up.

‘Cause I know you,

You’ll get bored and start looking.

At least this way

We can only stand on the beach

And reminisce in what

It used to be.