Yum...pumpkin orange.Something a bit spooky for this weekend; though I always think that this poem is about part of our ego that haunts us...more than an actual human. An "other" of our own making.
Haunted
His voice, his breath on my neck
comes to me when I’m alone.
My name -- harshly whispered --
is hurled at my back and
I turn to find no one.
The ghost of him at night
in my room in my doorway
over my bed haunts me now
at any time, moon or sun
overhead, framed in the window,
light or dark, his voice remains.
He calls to me, hissing through
his teeth, anger spilling from his lips.
The sweat of a man possessed
dripping onto my own flesh,
seeping into me, still flowing
in my veins.
No amulet, no cross, no holy
water vanquishes him -- a mere
shadow, there is nothing solid
at which to aim. He lingers
around corners, in dark hallways,
the cobwebbed passageways of my brain.
--christine c. reed
His voice, his breath on my neck
comes to me when I’m alone.
My name -- harshly whispered --
is hurled at my back and
I turn to find no one.
The ghost of him at night
in my room in my doorway
over my bed haunts me now
at any time, moon or sun
overhead, framed in the window,
light or dark, his voice remains.
He calls to me, hissing through
his teeth, anger spilling from his lips.
The sweat of a man possessed
dripping onto my own flesh,
seeping into me, still flowing
in my veins.
No amulet, no cross, no holy
water vanquishes him -- a mere
shadow, there is nothing solid
at which to aim. He lingers
around corners, in dark hallways,
the cobwebbed passageways of my brain.
--christine c. reed
1 comments:
Wow Christine ... very very powerful.
Post a Comment