Visitors

How can a house be cold in summer's love Yet gardens grow and puddles disappear Inside the walls of frost which I speak of I live unconscious of the month and year As nature speaks in tongues unclear to hear Infected with no memory of time My memory the victim or the crime Moreso, methinks my real estate is haunted Seemingly not a rodent coy and stranded Can raise a dish and break it when confronted Oh Lord, I cry to thee as if abandoned Weak of fatigue, or fear and heavy handed Be it wizardry woeful through conception Or be thine eyes figments of false perception Cabinets close and open quite sporadic And tablecloths remove themselves completely Unwearied are the footsteps in the attic If thou art dither, dost dither discreetly Thine wish would be for thou to dry concretely If death adores the soul to be at peace Why hast thou abandoned thy coffin's lease? Whispers attract my force untoward a prism And memories forgotten fast awaken Now voices blare a tune of exorcism Myself the ghost, causing thy to be shaken Oh Lord, I cry to thee a soul forsaken Forgive me for my soul, non-fiction juror As I'm the ghastly figure in the mirror