Ghost and Echo

   .   .   .   same poem, same love song, same old story,
says my long-familiar ghost.     every work
of art is the echo of frustrated love   .   .   .

too many nights in shadows cast by the moon
in her jealous sky among her maudlin stars
drunk with isolation and space and spitting
nightmare into the hearts of crows   .   .   .   my ghost

stops me here to explain these are all fragments
of my fractured self, echoes of jilted love
I have yet to make my peace with   .   .   .   be silent,

old ghost, and cease projecting your sorrows
on my heart’s sullen screen!     silence becomes

sweetest song in the healing heart   .   .   .   but now
her silence is deeper grief than jealous moonlight.

David M Pitchford
8 Nov 2011


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