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My mother, my grandmothers, and others
Come to me mostly when I'm sleeping,
But sometimes when I'm driving,
And often when I'm writing.
Their presence enfolds me;
Their spirits encourage me,
Warming my soul like thick, bubbly cocoa,
Calling up memories sweet as melting marshmallows,
Leaving loving messages in my mind,
Leaving visions of inspiration, joy, and devotion,
Letting me know that I do not face the world alone.
Just long-passed loved ones, looking in,
My mother, my grandmothers, and others.
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Nightmares from the past,
Brings disturbance ringing in my ears,
Unseen voices terrifying my interest,
Whispering gesture
You would touch me in anger so
that I would cringe in fear.
That was so long ago; so
why do I sometimes still react
in that
My mother, my grandmothers, and others
Come to me mostly when I'm sleeping,
But sometimes when I'm driving,
And often when
Daddy,
Do you want to know
Why I hate you, and
Why is it I despise you so
I hear you screaming in my dead
Last knigh when the
MIRRORS
Those dead guys are singing to me again...
Through radio speakers as ancient as I.
Stereophonic. Hypnotic.
The bottle
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Poetry: Ghost from the past
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