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I lived my life, most often, like a ghost,

ethereal, drifting from room to room,

a chill chasing me from pillar to post.


Rippling across the senses of those whom,

in solitude, sought meaning in their life

before they passed beyond it to the tomb.


I was not noticed by them, or my wife

who gladly let me rest in silent shade

whilst stabbing at me with a nagging knife.


Then, resting in the bed that we had made

she didn’t notice that, tonight, I died -

my spirit passing to the night brigade.


Her tears were dust, those moments that she cried.

I saw all this from high above the scene

as doors to purgatory opened wide.


I could have grieved for all that I had been,

but something in me wanted to be free,

something dark within wanted to be seen.


So I ignored the light that shone on me,

turning away from heaven’s golden gate.

I threw away salvations twisted key.


I chose to take an otherworldly fate,

to challenge death and break his rigid laws.

Look for me when the hour is getting late.


At last you notice when I open doors,

you look around, your eyes awash with fear,

jump at the sound of distant creaking floors.


Your senses tingle, knowing I am near,

Aware, though dead and gone, that I still care.

I whisper it so softly in your ear.


I run my fingers gently through your hair.

Closer than close. A permanent nightmare.


◄ Deadly Nightshade

In The Belly Of The Whale ►


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John Coopey

Sun 19th May 2013 23:49

Excellent Ian,
I never know the difference between limbo and purgatory. Of course, your fun will end when she joins you!
Unlike Yvonne, I can never really enjoy rhymes around "wife/life/strife/knife". I think it's because options are few so you can see what's coming.
It didn't stop my overall enjoyment, though.

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Yvonne Brunton

Sun 19th May 2013 23:33

a great read. I like the 'flag- words ' ghost etc - at first one almost ignores them but one realises their import after the key line ' look for me...' 'Whilst stabbing at me with a nagging knife' - excellent line.

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Harry O'Neill

Sun 19th May 2013 15:20

A clever adaption of a Villanelle-type style to get the intervolved connected `run` of the `story` of this (direct address) poem.

The lines about the wife are deadly, and the `story` is told clearly.

(I`m not sure if I`m right but - feeling that the `eerie` punch of the poem is from the line:`Look for me when the hour is getting late` I think that the words, `ghost` `ethereal` `chill` and `tomb` would be more omminously fitted into the last three stanzas than in the early `not noticed` section and replaced by annonymous words.)

Refreshingly clear and rhythmic poem.

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