Monday, April 16, 2007

Ghosts


Tis the morning when
They all line up
Like little tin soldiers
On a marble mantlepiece
Without a fire beneath.

One carries a book
And barely glances at me.
One has a real gun
And a real uniform
And marches away. Forever.

One is at my feet,
Sad and pleading
For one more chance
Just one, always one.
Until they piled too high.

One I loved too much
I crushed him hard
To my needy heart.
He couldn't breathe
He, of course, escaped.

One I didn't love enough,
I was too afraid you see.
He brought me joy
Encased in golden rapture
And I turned and walked away.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Some of you are having trouble, I've removed captcha and verification so we'll see how that goes. My apologies. Blogger is putting up far too many roadblocks. Thanks for the emails alerting me.
wisewebwomanatgmail.com