Monday, October 16, 2017

Ghosts

Ghosts
10/16/17

People tell me ghosts aren’t real,
They only exist in my head.
The things I see, the things I feel
Aren’t the voices of the dead.
It must be my imagination
Because after we all die,
We go to heaven, hell, or other
But we don’t leave anything behind.
Well, I don’t know if that’s true or not
But let me tell you what I think,
Maybe ghosts are people left behind,
Or an image, a glitch, when we blink.
Or maybe they are something else
Because I promise ghosts are real,
They exist in our minds, things left behind
They are something we don’t want to feel.
Ghosts are what we make them,
They are visions we create,
Of lives left behind or of things that remind
Us of lives that we might predate.
But I digress, let me state my point,
We all create our ghosts,
They are the things from our own past
The things that bother us most.
Who knows what ghosts really are
But they follow us around,
They are memories we leave behind,
The ones we try to put to ground.
Thoughts, that much like ghosts,
Come back from beyond the grave,
History from long ago,
Things better left behind, or erased. 


Happy Halloween

Creativity Faucet

Creativity Faucet
10/16/2017

Why is creativity
So hard to come across?
Why does it just come and go?
For me it’s a major loss.

Come back my creativity!
Don't abandon me this way!
Come back! Come back! Where is it at?
I don’t know what to say!
What words do I put on paper?
Without it, I don’t know.
When it’s gone, lost for far too long,
The words, they just don’t flow.

But wait! I’ve suddenly found it!
The words are coming to me,
They are finding their way onto the page
I think I just might see,
For creativity is like a faucet
And when you turn it on,
It flows and goes and no one knows
Just when it will come to a stop.

But as soon as you close the faucet
That handle starts to rust.
It gets harder and harder just to turn
So, in truth you really must
Constantly let the water flow
So the handle will always turn,
Because creativity is hard to find
And it’s something you must earn. 

Missing Page

Missing Page
10/16/2017

For every single missing page
There’s a story to be told.
What happened there, where did it go?
I’m afraid you may never know.
Missing words don’t leave any evidence,
Only the page leaves part of itself.
A tatter, a rip, some missing paper;
The only one who knows is myself,
And what was there is a mystery
That I’ll leave for you to guess at.
Good luck, I’m afraid you’ll never know
For these pages are my own format. 

Quiet Snow

Quiet Snow
2/23/2017

So slow, so silent
          Snow falls.
Rain creates a loud
          Tink, tink,
As it collides with the ground.
Snow falls
          It lands,
          Silently
Leaving behind
Only a soft, white carpet
As evidence.
For how silently it makes an entrance
          Snow stays
Lasting days,
Weeks,
While rain makes a grand entrance
Only to dry up,
          Disappear
Too soon after its arrival.
Pure Snow,
Silent Snow,
Beautiful Snow,
Leaves behind a part of itself,
          So silently,
          Quiet Snow.