Ghost Writer’s Whisper

I am poetry pentameter rhyme,

In what was present, To Be found no more.

Birth flight being overcome bye death plight

That everyone passes on poetry.

Reading words, being present tense bookworm

Flourished aftermath, blooms past sentences.

Syllables meter seeds from yester year,

Memorial graven lines recital.

Fading ink stained solemn memories

Etched in permanent pain engraved marks

Bear what was - recycled all over time

Haunting timeframe presence bare subconscious.

That what was long lost - long ago echoes.

A poet wraith in the wrath of worn paths

Torn inside out tattered remnant parchment,

Where time incarnate ghost writer’s whisper.

David Lester Young 04/21/16