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.
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