The Haunting

There are rumours of haunted
houses and woods, buildings and groves
but it’s not quite true, not of places
We are the haunted, the bedeviled, the besieged
I’m walking my ghosts now
watching them watching me with
malice or compassion, spite or sadness
they speak in voices and tongues that
none can translate or hear
ghosts of past sins, and of future ones
seeking absolution I cannot give them
though my sacrifice is ready
as some burnt altar offering
I am no priest with redemption at hand
no shaman or seer with sacred visions
I have only this disquiet, this pallor of appalling
verisimilitude
as if I were somehow more real
than them

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s