You have no right to haunt me.
I didn’t ask for this,
the lingering soul of something
that died long before
the burial took place.
The flowers browned and
matted to the earth, before
the death knell had sounded.
Or, maybe I did,
because I’ve always been strangely
awed by ghosts;
always searching for them,
or speaking of them,
with whole-hearted, hot dedication.
They say you see things when
you are no longer looking,
and that may well be true,
because I see you everywhere,
though I am looking at other things:
on the other side of the bed,
or in the thick of lilies in the garden,
where the cabbage butterflies play.
I know that I am being touched,
without seeing the fingers
make their association.
This feeling is certain, with
no room for other notions.
It is a strange mix of burn and calm
which leaves me flummoxed,
wondering where time is standing,
or if it ever was.
The afterglow from lying on the
grave of a long-dead loved one,
evokes strange comfort, as well as
a lingering disquiet.
Regret and acceptance are the feuding sisters,
tangling with each other, vying for dominance,
blooming together, like barbed roses
wrapping slowly round the headstone.
You were dead,
and I‘d been freed,
yet somehow, I am the one
who has stopped breathing.
as we see the things yet unseen, feel the flairs unveiled that reasons yet unreasoned, the varring plexus in the facets of experiences beyond reasns and rhymes the rocks us at times, this is unique one i do adore and admire.
So hearbreaking and beautifully written Tara. That last stanza especially did it for me. A wonderful write. Hugs Anna xxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'Regret and acceptance are the feuding sisters, ' is so beautiful. Liked the poem.