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