I was hellishly tired one evening with much still to do. It seemed like in would never get some rest ...
Out of the fog-swept night
he stepped.
An ordinary
looking chap save for the
grey felt fedora
and
the tendency to transparency.
Weary beyond the insatiable
capacity of the immortal soul
for suffering, every incorporeal
movement the occasion of a groan
both infernal and profound
the ghost roamed its assigned haunt.
“Sleepless I these seven decades past”
he confided when first we met,
"Being dead ain’t what it is
cracked up to be,” His wild
laughter came
from beyond madness.
“Not heaven, not hell.
not simple oblivion –
Just eternity spent haunting
this fog bound haunt …“
I see him, now and again
when I walk
the high wild path
in the grey fog.
His ghostly form and presence
hold no terror ---
but the thought
that he speaks true
fills me with wonder, and
with dread
oh man...did this strike some notes in me...lately I have been feeling like a one legged man in a butt kicking contest and this poem was right on the money...good job, John
Reviewed by Kate Clifford (Reader)
Reviewed on January 18, 2005
Over tired minds come up with some of the most interesting abstract thoughts. Great write.
Did you ever wonder what happened after the Archangel Michael through the demons out of heaven? Let one of them guide you through the origin of evil in the world.
Did you ever wonder what happened after the Archangel Michael through the demons out of heaven? Let one of them guide you through the origin of evil in the world.
In the end they'll all be dancin'--all them ones that didn't die.... Dance with me in the shadows amidst the lightning and the thunder, and all that nu-cu-lar debris. See the big bang from the other side, and then open that cellar door. Go down into
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it sure was for me (the reader)
thanks for the trip
Been a while you write something about the "Red Mule"
Love Tinka