My Ghost | A Poem

I should have told you that one day, rain would fall on rotted shingles decorated with old moss.

Maybe soon you might understand why I left my heart lying with all the dead leaves in autumn.

My cold fingertips remind me of my future wandering ghost,

Lonely in time, listening to water drip in patternless action from winter branches.

Watching as it pours through gutters hiding leaves and old dirt.

It erodes the foundations of past lives

and exposes the decaying roots of a once beautiful landscape.

I told you that I wanted to cut out the dead tree in the front lawn but I think I might leave it

Because maybe then, I might remember to cultivate the beauty I have, instead of planting things just to watch them die.

I always enjoyed playing with fire.

Maybe that's why you kept your distance.

You and I shared a love of abandoned things

Perhaps one day people will wander our house and ask questions of the empty rooms.

They might notice the damaged floorboards.

And look up into the gray clouded sky through holes in the roof and wonder in silence.

I wouldn't haunt the space with malicious intent.

Instead, I'd be discovered sitting on the moss covered roof at sundown with my knees hugged to my chest.

You'd hear my voice humming quietly my favorite song at midnight.

You might find the basement light flickering on because there was that painting I had yet to finish.

You might observe a motionless shadow sitting alone by a cold fire pit in the far corner of an imagined garden.

I wouldn't disturb you quiet wanderer

And you wouldn't disturb me.

We might lock eyes despite being separated by an entire universe.

And in that shared moment of serene stillness

We’ll then know that our questions never needed answered.

We'll just listen to rain fall on rotted shingles of some abandoned house.

And watch ice thaw from budding branches in early spring.

We will watch a landscape decay, offering itself as nourishment to the next one to take its place.

Old lives or new, the world will always move.

I think I'll leave that painting unfinished.

It might mean something to someone else with a love of abandoned things.