Memoirs of a Ghost
How shall I refuse what I am now?
And even if I would not be a specter,
Whose shameful fists rake the
Chimes of your darkest night,
I’d still breathe the venom through
My thorns, and be undead…
Just hurl my spirit into syncope
If you’d wish not to be disturbed…
Neither with silence, nor with regrets
Or dusty shelves with litany,
Will I refuse what I am now:
A ghost, an apparition, a lonely
Journal of what we were…
Neither with stupor, nor with absences
That count away my years
Should I ever be prepared
To do you a little bit of wrong…
How can I restrain myself
When all I do is spiritually
Cheat through you… with you.
And thus my soul, a phantom, a ghost,
A cast upon this awful love,
Is no longer just seduced,
From persuasion I have saved my spirit,
Yet I still taste the venom…
© 2009 Stefania Carmen Misaila
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