The sun sets on the empty horizon,
And a blood moon aches to fill in the space,
The Ghost of I, mirroring the Specter of Sighs,
Running from the Abyss of Nigh,
Struggles to find relief
In the space twixt cold sheets. […]
The sun sets on the empty horizon,
And a blood moon aches to fill in the space,
The Ghost of I, mirroring the Specter of Sighs,
Running from the Abyss of Nigh,
Struggles to find relief
In the space twixt cold sheets.
Crows caw in the distance,
Caroling the end of an era,
Ushering in the reality of an omen,
Crows caw,
Signaling the beginning
Of the flight or fight omen,
The dawn of
The do or die era.
.....
There will be no sleep for the Ghost of I,
For the crows have spoken,
And in their caw they have responded with a simple chorus –
The ghost is done,
The specter moves on,
The abyss has won,
Their caw echoes into the night,
Their call remains unanswered…
Unless…
Unless the ghost rages from its haunted bed
And floats out from the dark, into the light,
Into a forgiving, a living, world,
To find the crows of ill tidings,
And correct them of their misguidings.
…Brimming with purpose, the ghost sets out,
Across the deserts of depression,
Into the forests of folly,
Over the mountains of malaise,
Into the ravines of reward..
Through the fields of failure,
Into the space of what’s to come.
The ghost must be determined
To find the crows and stop their cawing.
Time is lost to the one so determined,
And – hope never forgotten –
Full of vim and of fighting,
The ghost finds the nest of crows,
The source of his true haunting,
Here is that murder,
A whirlwind of wanting tar feathers,
A myriad mass of caws and cacophony,
A indistinguishable blur of agony,
A writhing want of bliss for the abyss.
But fear is lost to the spirit so determined,
And – pain now forgotten –
Full of vigor and of fighting,
The ghost dives into this cacophony,
Into the source of true agony.
To gnash and gnaw,
To crash and claw.
The abyss is theirs to revolt,
To rebel against,
The abyss is theirs,
To dispel,
To distort against.
The abyss is theirs
to own.
….
The crows are never silenced,
But now they caw a different chorus,
The ghost is done.
The ghost has won.
The ghost moves on.
The End.
The End.
The End…
-12/18/13-
M. L. Michael
About…
RIP Jeremy Rounkles…
Every Breath Poetic 