The Ghost On the Wall
The ghost haunting the wall stood tall
He manifested in the shape of a man wearing a top hat and tails
I christened him Tom
I would talk to him telling him of my troubles
He was always there to lend an ear
A true British gentleman
quite polite as any proper gentleman should be
He was no trouble at all
No wailing, banging or clanging
No chains jangling to disturb me during my rest
He merely stood and stared below where the roof had once bled
A silent sentinel as I slept warding off witches, vapid vampires
any of a number of nasty nocturnal foes
with dastardly designs to devour me
I thought I’d once seen him move for a moment
It was the night of the lightning storm
White hot light strobing, pulsing through the window
Rain rushing through the gutters blown in torrents against the glass
I thought perhaps he wanted to dance to the beat of the sky drums
rumbling, thrumming, echoing, reverberating through the room
the walls shaking and quaking with each resounding crash and boom
In another flicker and flash I notice tears trailing from Tom’s eyes
He must be so lonely left standing solitary for so long
I rose from my bed and crossed the room to comfort him
wiping them away with my hand
They were cold
Not like those emitted from the eyes of living men
the ceiling began to cry as well in its compassion for poor Tom’s plight
Its tears chill as Tom's own dripping on my head, sliding through my hair
The roof was bleeding once again
Perhaps finally Tom would have a friend
and together they could dance
Copyright © Angela Douglas | Year Posted 2022
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