maanantai 31. joulukuuta 2012

spinning time gone by to stories to never be

There are ghosts in this house
they whisper all night
if you choose to listen
you'll be gifted with
endless, mindless chatter
pearls of wisdom in the disguise
of mocking titters

They tell of things that won't come to pass
of things better left unsaid
of untrue words hurled with abandon
paths that are not for treading
misunderstandings, misgivings
of little black boxes
full of unexplainable
thoughts of which
devil makes play

The ghosts are
lonely beings
their voices watered down
only heard when they
ride the wind howling
or when the world stands still
and whispers are screams

They do not mean ill
- you must understand -
for when you've not had breath
nor a pulse, felt touches of
your beloveds or dreamt
for immesurable span of time
and all you can do is think
spin thoughts to stories
you too might wish to voice
only the most unthinkable
and elaborate conclusions
unseen by the eyes of the living
when someone finally
listens to you

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Whisper your message to the waves, the echo will reach me.