Ghost

GHOST Oh, gentle ghost, you come and then you go, with puzzles of the past, unanswered still, your fragrance calls to mind, things I don't know, from every word you give, I take my fill. Tis life's great tragedy, you'd have me wear, for all the days and nights, I've left to hold, but spirit brings the dark, and takes me where I reach the all alone, not growing old. Your beauty is my breath--my greatest sin, and has your mother known you all this well, to say from where you come, where I have been? The things she cannot know, she cannot tell. Oh, gentle ghost, I fail deep in your eyes, into a death that never truly dies. © ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet