Ghost Story

In my sleep, she showed up. It's been
Eleven years. She looked the same,
Tall and thin, athletic, beautiful, surely,
To others, not just me, and still she
Did not want my love. She stood on a
Street. She may not have seen me,
And, now, awake, I am hoping she
Didn't. I'd rather she went back to
Where she has been, shut the doors,
Eleven, between us. I don't love her
Now. I'm glad that I don't, and I'm
Certain she isn't the same.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 42 times
Written on 2010-08-31 at 13:16

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