Name the ghosts

 

I could name the ghosts.

I could speak of them.

I could. But what good would come

from digging up old corpses?

So many,

stories,

where the edges get distorted,

some of the facts misreported.

You are transported

back to a time you remember,

only the walls have been rebuilt.

The blueprints passed

in Chinese whispers,

So now the door sits,

where before sat 

an old coffee table,

engraved with years of rings,

like a tree of caffeine addiction.

 

The nicotine yellow stains

cloud everything,

sepia toned memory.

Faded in times' steady rains,

and walking through

the wailing echoed strains 

of a melancholic brain,

the shadows of old names.

Washed out ink 

blotting the page.

faces that became dust

and blew away 

on the wind

 

I could name 

the demons.

Every one of them.

I could. Talk of the hell they led me to,

I could walk through 

those corridors,

with my eyes closed tigh

with superglue,

but really what good would it do?

I've clawed myself clear,

I've ripped my eyelids apart

So now I see everything,

not just the greying

yellow stains on my heart.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"

100+ all new poems not shared here before.

https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages

Please follow the link for my books, videos and social media.

 

https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff 

 

Every click, every book purchase, every like helps me to keep doing what I love.

 

Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle