The Ghost Poem by Alexander Thomas

The Ghost



Where do I wander in the night?
When I pass to shadow from light?
In the mirror I look at a reflection,
To the image I have no recollection.

My limbs are tired from walking,
My voice gone from too much talking,
My hair by wind blown and curled,
My eyes misty in a strange new world.

I do not know this withered face,
Or the memory of this empty place,
A lonely stranger to the dawn I cry,
Happier as an angel set free to fly.

More comfortable in my other skin,
Joined with the deities as my kin,
Sat on holy mountains I meditate,
Into the infinite cosmos to levitate.

Gliding over my realm of dreams,
Away from all the existential screams,
On Earth my other self is but a ghost,
In its poorly accommodating mortal host.

In the morning neither here nor there,
In the mirror at two reflections I stare,
Perhaps I should just go back to bed,
Because in the day I drift like the dead.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: dreams
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