I just couldn’t place
the man,
familiar face,
his voice rang bells too,
but it spoke in tones
I wasn't accustomed to.
Something in his stance,
it was someone I'd met before.
Must have been.
I know I’d seen his face,
just younger than now,
no greying beard nor wrinkled lines
furrowing his brow.
I saw him younger,
now in his 40s, maybe more.
Me, just a boy,
finding my feet.
Out of school,
I'd given myself a glance at life,
a taste of reality
and I was entranced
by the lights, the highs,
I wanted to live to the most
see all the sights.
The man resembled a ghost.
A figure blurred
by times weary hands.
He spoke
and the words
meant nothing to me.
His garbled words unclear,
he was from so far,
but so very near,
so distant but so close.
The words went in one ear
then rattled through
the empty air in between,
before exiting into the atmosphere.
He spoke of future ghosts,
of troubled times,
darkened pathways
and shadows that creep behind.
He spoke in rhyme,
in metaphor,
never making any sense to my mind.
Only experience I had with poetry
were the ones by Shakespeare
and that Wilfred Owen from the war.
Into faded memories he swept,
though his face stayed
etched in my mind,
for many years,
too many years.
As time crept slowly past,
I walked down dark paths,
had troubled times,
met many ghosts
and shadows that crept in line.
I saw the bags
beneath his eyes,
the silent sighs
that lived in his smile
and today I saw him once more.
When I looked in the mirror,
his was the face that I saw.
Thanks for reading
Endless Nightmares out now
300 pages of horror themed poetic storytelling
Please take a look at my previous collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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