Ghost of my own making
I should be sleeping,
Softly drifting into peaceful dreaming,
But I’m awake with a jagged leaning
To trade in my rest and fight what I'm feeling.
The shadows are creeping,
Across the floor where the light is seeping,
The silent watch that the walls are keeping
Is a heavy price for the soul I'm reaping.
I’m plagued by flickers of fictitious whispers,
The static hiss of a thousand blisters,
A hollow chorus sings in the ghostly distance
Twisting the air into brittle splinters.
The silence is breaking,
To the rhythm of an empty aching,
Between the giving and the taking,
I’m just the ghost of my own making.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
