Ghosts In This House

I don’t usually share any poetry that I write. This started as a regular, straight-forward, overly verbose blog post but the words weren’t coming out right. So I took the dog for a walk and this poem started composing itself out of half-remembered lyrics. The first two lines – I didn’t realize until this was finished – are from a Gaslight Anthem song. They were actually slightly different, but I changed them to match. Anyway, this sort of captures the essence of what I was trying to say better than the prose did, so…
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There are ghosts in this house
Leaving shadows of the past
Where they came, where they slept, where they left
In the groves of the couch
And nestled in the crooks and corners on the floor
On the side of the bed
Where I still do not sleep
Cold and empty
Next to the clock that drifts further out of time,
It was never right.

There are ghosts in this house
They leave reminders behind
Though I’ve never forgotten, I don’t like being reminded.
They haunt the walls
And the pictures, and the rooms left unfinished
Like the promises
And the unfinished lives
And my fears,
That these hauntings will never stop,
And that they will.

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