Ghost Writer

Like anything There are two edges to this sword The ragged one has, for now, cut too deeply The reality of its cleaving And the intent of the hand it is wielded by Thickens the blood that weeps from its wounds To collect in a puddle of deep discouragement ... and frustration. The keen, clean edge shines as always Kept in precision by the kindness and friendship Of those whose genuine caring and appreciation of my work Has been the true motivation of this journey From the first moments I placed my feet on its path And I shall treasure it always, held close. But my weary eyes must turn from the darkness and animosity The nefarious creatures that move in the shadows Wend motivations that are contrary to my beliefs and cares My gaze seeks a bluer sky in day - a more dazzled vault in eventide A brighter reach to glow and call and stir within One with hope and encouragement and appreciation And perhaps, dare I say? The opportunities of publication and true craft. Perhaps it is a dream, that But dreams are what keep us young Dreams are what push us to keep searching for the righteous path And striving for the brighter meadows ... the truer stars. Oh, I will yet be about - a poem here, a contest there, a comment-or-two But only as the dancing ghost that I have become of late That I have been told - by indirect fashion - I am No longer a threat, competitor or antagonist But a friendly phantom, a role I much prefer ... and affirm to For after all, ghosts are never missed Nor are they needed. Blessings, Dear Poets. Submitted on February 18, 2020 To the "Strand Select T Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest Brian Strand, Sponsor.