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