Ghosts

Evening

Another Lenten Friday night. The church's
Basement's tables all are filled, and I watch
Husbands, wives and children, uncles,
Cousins, grandmas, lifelong friends,
In conversation, laughing, shouting,
Getting up to push their ways toward
Other tables, shaking hands and slapping
Backs, but, even among my own friends,
I only eat. I do not speak. It seems that
I'm not wholly here. I cannot tell you why.


Night

The night must end. The ghost must go.
The mind which made the ghost must
Heal itself to usher in the day, and, in
Its light, must find the will to keep the
Ghost at bay.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 53 times
Written on 2016-03-07 at 01:26

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