Bifurcated Brian - An Echo Poem
The Ghost Soul
I’ve always been a ghost soul
Existence is my lot,
What you call life is simply pain,
And love, I know it not.
Life’s boundaries are lingering
My train it never comes,
And hope to me a paltry gift
Just dried chrysanthemums.
If God were real, He would do more
Than leave all in a lurch,
Myopic patrons of the faith,
Pretenders to His church.
And Hell is not that different
From my life’s daily bread,
Relieved, from what I think I see,
The dead are simply dead.
I’m lost in my imagining
Control of love that’s past
The rotting dreams of what could be,
Thank God they didn’t last.
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Giving Up The Ghost
My dream is possibility,
Not what I think I’m owed,
My expectations not in sight,
And love my only code.
All feelings are a gift from God,
Intended just to serve,
His loving lessons to His child,
When life throws me a curve.
And daily are His gifts bestowed,
Confirming He is near,
My antics bringing Him a laugh,
His laugh fills me with cheer.
Content with what the future holds
No fears of early chill,
I joyfully step into breach
A lamb unto His will.
My shepherd in the storm’s tumult,
And shield from all alarms,
The wonder of His saving grace,
The welcome of His arms.
Brian Johnston
December 21,2014
Poet's Notes:
This is another example of what I call an Echo Poem. One poem takes the lead and the other poem responds to it.
Copyright ©
Brian Johnston
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