by Ian Whiteley
I lived my life, most often, like a ghost,
ethereal, drifting from room to room,
a chill chasing me from pillar to post.
Rippling across the senses of those whom,
in solitude, sought meaning in their life
before they passed beyond it to the tomb.
I was not noticed by them, or my wife
who gladly let me rest in silent shade
whilst stabbing at me with a nagging knife.
Sunday 19th May 2013 12:25 pm
Angel from my nightmares.
Devil from my dreams
a grey spirit that weaves
its way through my existence.
What a Dementor does to souls
or a Dalek to a human heart.
Even a superhuman heart
Just ask Logan,
a force so strong
a returning phoenix
could not reignite remnants.
I miss you.
Whatever you do...
Blink means death.
182 seconds of...
Tuesday 19th March 2013 10:50 pm
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