The 100 Mile Hallway
I see a ghost standing
At the end of the hallway.
Or is it a person,
I ask myself. A child or friend
In fuzzy outline,
An empty figure.
Can anyone else see it?
The ghostboy stares
Through empty eyes,
Blackened pits void of sight.
Behind him lies an orange tabby
Swatting at a ball of yarn
And making colored banners.
A festival of streaming ribbons.
The past is gone, I murmur.
A cloud of despair crosses the face
So full of loss
And longing
For the world
That forgot his name.
Copyright © Micaela Owens | Year Posted 2020
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