Upon death,


we become in spirit form




curated by the actions of our prior existence,


unseen, unheard, unnoticed, unknown.


Be vigilant, amongst


the bristling leaves of


a majestic tree,


the vengeful wrath of a turbulent storm


the comfortable roll of an ebbing tide,


the mesmeric crackle of a licking flame.


Be aware that


your spirit will mark you early


and tirelessly bide its time


for you to pass the mortal rubicon,


 when it comes to claim


its rightful prize






© Graham Sherwood 11/2017

🌷 (3)

◄ Octothorpes

Ghostwriting ►


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suki spangles

Tue 31st Oct 2017 22:57

It isn't easy to write about such a subject as well as you have here. You say a lot in a few lines.

A thoughtful meditation on what might be described as the after life: the affects of our legacy on ourselves as well as the others who we have "touched" one way or another.


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Tue 31st Oct 2017 22:19

Hi Graham,

David's comments reflect much of what I feel about your poem - just to add it has a sparse and mesmeric quality which is perfect for the theme.In spite of the unprovable notion of survival it presents a very realistic view of it and I find it really excellent.


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Wolfgar Miere

Tue 31st Oct 2017 20:27

Lovely stuff Graham,

all that energy must go somewhere, I mean energy in real terms as much as spiritual, a word I really don't like very much but which seems to be sufficiently vague to be used endlessly whilst nothing else seems to fit.

It seems fair to assume that our residual energies are determined by how we have lived, this seems evident by how some ego's impact greatly on humankind even after it is realistic to surmise they have moved on.

So strange to see the title of this today, I wrote a piece over the past few days with "Id" in the title. I'll be sticking it up tomorrow.

I like the poem very much and the idea you have presented in it, the last seven lines seem presented as a warning suggesting there is a legacy we are leaving behind which is tangible to others, I think that is true.


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