Contemplations of a Disturbed Soul

XII

It rose, it rises, it will rise again.

Bloodless and white; like a waterfall on grey stones.

Like the dead and dying with their sorrow bones.

And it comes. Closer and closer every night.

It comes to me.

An empty heart, an emptier soul.

With pools of shadows for eyes.

And a cold smile.

Its hands scarred by the iron shackles-

That once bound it to its lair.

The night is dark and the day darker.

But it seems to suck in still remaining light.

Now, it comes. When hope dies.

For hope is just a miserable creature before it.

Before the player of devils.

It doesn't walk. It doesn't fly.

It simply breathes in beings such as me,

Breathes in deep until we turn to see-

That we became its slaves.

And now we're the devils.

The ghost strikes deep whenever it does.

And it seems like tonight it's my turn.

I know I rot but tonight I'll burn.

Yet I can't escape it. No one can.

I'm watching the stars when its here.

Before me, like an apprentice.

Awaiting for...

Silence.

It's all hunched up. Its rags always moving,

Like boundless time.

And I hear a rasping song- 'what do you see?'

It talks, I hear.

I watch the night again and reply to the stars.

'Love'. And my heart beats wild.

For before the ghost, love is just a child.

To be slain in its cradle,

So that its cry is not heard.

The ghost laughed. He sucked in the night.

It had got its answer and now, it breathes.

And my soul, to it, recedes.

And the night bore all witness-

Of the happenings.

I don't think now. It has consumed me through.

I feel its arms raking my blood,

And I become the devil.

And he plays me...

I loathe. I want to hurt.

And hear their screams,

And laugh at their bloodless sights.

The ghost plays me.

And it plays me well.

Didn't I tell you? The ghost has a name.

Like all things with saddening fates.

It's called hate.

Hate...slayer of love and hopes.

And like all those feeling it now,

I hate. But only for the time it plays me.

I'll be free again, I know.

But for now,

The night is dark and the day darker.

And the devil lies in inchoate hates.

Within me,

The ghost.