Time to Fly Away

I've haunted this decrepit manor house contentedly,
The ghost left drifting through its hallways after
All the kids had gone. I gamboled in its splendid
Silence, scanned its vistas, read and contemplated,
And wrote reams of verse, but, now its walls
Are pressing in. One son is back, and he has
Brought his lover, and a little dog. His friend
Is here. They talk too much. They stay up late
And watch TV. They leave the kitchen filled with
Dirty dishes, and the dog, a puppy, soils every
Rug around. The house has ceased to be the sort
Of place a ghost can safely haunt. I fly up toward
The rafters, and I quiver, and I hide away. I cannot
Write. I'd like to leave. Perhaps there is belfry
Somewhere not inhabited by bats, which might
Provide a bit of solace to a soul whose body's
Died, and wishes for some peace.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 64 times
Written on 2020-08-09 at 03:15

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