Invisible Participant Poem by Patti Masterman

When the ​Christian grows cold,
he can wrap himself with bible verses.
The saint has bodily mortification.
The dead have their shrouds,
and satin lined boxes.

The lover has his beloved,
the drinker, his drink,
the dog, other dogs.

Our most basic comfort
will always be the thing we identify with,
or consider that we belong to.

As a ghost haunts the last place of living,
I simply haunt your heart.
I tell you this, that you may realize
whenever you feel startled
to find you are not really alone,
that it is only I; stumping along your mind's corridors,
bumbling over your thoughts,
awakening you from sound dreams.

Probing your memories like a tentacle-
The invisible participant, of your life's days..