Ghosts are everywhere
pulses of her heart stopped
in a knot
wraiths chattering
mixing and melding
In this invisible air
oddest number is the one
moments linger in the empty chair
talking to a lady no longer there,
odd that even two is only ever odd 1 + 1
associations carry on until the wood
rots and there are no trees and no ice
and no air and nobody there..

Only the hallowed spirits of times passed
only the solid citizens of Tuscany
who thought they would outlast plastic
proved to be eminently biodegradable like
that empty chair
now melded like the sitter
into the damp, brown clay
around which silent ghosts
coagulate and pray.




◄ Blank slate

A Victorian Saturday Night ►


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keith jeffries

Fri 18th Nov 2022 21:19

Dust we are and to dust we shall return leaving no visible trace. We depart to a new realm, out of sight. Monuments might outlive us; we have gone ne'er to return. The inevitability of death and historical remains are only a shadow of who we were. A profound poem. The lines plastic and biodegradable speak volumes. I smiled at this.
Thank you for this

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