I have seen a ghost
When I no longer believed in such a hoax
It came in the dark of the night
The daylight is far too bright
At first, a mere sensation
A presence not felt before
Something, no someone is watching
In the distance, rising from the floor
At first I see nothing . . . but what
There, a quivering illumination
I would call it a faint familiarity
The promise of something more
A spirit form defying the darkness
The presence was now unmistakable
As though from the fabric of mystery born
A shape blocking moonlight from the window
As though from the moon’s shadows torn
As if from this world sadly forsaking
While into another world gladly awakening
The visitation began to manifest more fully
A shimmering so sure the shadows trembled
Then I saw my beloved, my bereaved
As if from dust motes of light assembled
Gazing through me from the other side
Flickering and false, as in a motion picture
Yes, ghosts don’t simply walk, they glide
The image drew me out of myself
By the sheer power of its gentleness
It seemed to lift me up and away
As if I too had died only to return another way
I wanted to reach out, to touch
Why do we want to touch the ghost
As if only this would make it somehow real
To become the reality we treasure most
The image smiled in misty delight
I felt overwhelmed by the incredible sight
The dream now seemed but an inhuman tease
That simply overturned my world with ease
Back in the house, my feet firmly on the ground
The image flickered, then disappeared
Dust particles in moonlight now reappeared
The darkness returned with its closed shutter
The night and all the world seemed like mere clutter
For one brief moment, I had seen my beloved glow
The world of the spirit was now mine to truly know
Ghosts have no future, lost in the netherworld of death
But they tell something of the present now passing
Odd premonitions no longer the same amassing
In the darkness an illumination had appeared
Lifting me out through a fortuitous crack in time
My soul now gently tempered and textured
With direct knowledge that bordered on the sublime
Apparitions and dreams have a life of their own
They do not belong to human ways or earthly time
The ghost of my beloved returned of her own accord
With a reassurance I could treasure as only mine
To return back to earth, feeling suddenly reborn
For one brief moment, I had been dead and gone
Lifted aloft into a dream world of luminous mystery
All the rest will gather dust in the archives of history
JOHN, AS WAS EXPECTED, YOU HAVE UPHELD YOUR THEME TO THE HILT...AND THEN SOME. LOVE THE FORM AND THE PHRASES WHICH BROUGHT FORTH ASTOUNDING IMAGERY. WELL DONE AND ENJOYED. THANKS FOR SHARING, LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
Oh boy! Have I ever seen ghosts, John. But mine wasn't nearly as illusory s yours seemed to be. No, mine, for the most part were genuine monsters which would awaken me sitting up in bed screaming. Thing goodness those days are over. These days my reams are much more sedated.
I believe we have all seen ghosts in our dreams. And past friends and lovers tend to inhabit these dreams in a way that has them coming and going in and often faded way that does not lend itself to careful examination.
You have described beautifully such an occurrence. I recall reading a short story by Mark Twain that had him in an old factory (hotel?) where abuses took place. Abuses tend to bring out vivid memories which when translated into action.
WHISPERS OF THE HEART is artist and author J. Allen Wilson's second book of poetry.It can be autographed and shipped within 48 hours of order. NO LONGER AVAILABLE.
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Love ya!
Jane
You have described beautifully such an occurrence. I recall reading a short story by Mark Twain that had him in an old factory (hotel?) where abuses took place. Abuses tend to bring out vivid memories which when translated into action.
Ron