Translucent

 

Faded view,

I can see through you.

Translucent skin

lets the light flow through.

You stand in the corner of the room

every night.

You enter through the wall,

never the door

which is its intended use.

 

Every night at around 3,

you visit me,

I can barely see you.

Transparent illusion,

vision true or untrue.

No squeaking doors or creaking floors.

No sound marks your entry,

you just float in

wearing clothes from a different century.

 

Your flowing dress blows in unreal winds,

rippling like a lake, though the room is still.

You cry, a silent mournful cry.

Holding your belly,

fear crosses your eyes.

I watch in silence from my bed.

Not afraid,

just quietly listening to the thoughts in my head.

 

You are there to wander the house again.

Glassy, like a steamed-up windowpane.

Why do you stop at the foot of my bed?

Then hang from my ceiling,

filling me with dread.

Is this the place

that the wicked deed was done?

Hung from the neck

you couldn't run.

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle