poetry

plodding

he told the boy that
there is a ghost
inside him

it’s not a movienhanced
entity that stalks the
broad bed covers but rather
a mist of the mind

you see when a boy sails
the severe starboard side
of family calamity you leave
the gentle fragments of insight
very little to go on

that ghost wears a robe
it catches the rising
light
it flickers for a second
then he sings the old rhyme
frankly the only one
this shaken psyche knows

the father told the boy
there is a ghost inside
that fertile laugh

but ghosts are only
the bones we choose
to play with at night

the boys ghost developed
gradually over the pebbles
of playgroundimples
and the screaming
puppets
parents
paint
and tell
you to believe the Book
without doubt

you have to talk it down
the father said
he gets a gravetching
in those tender eyes
solid as stones

the boy hopes to gather
some heavy fragments
tomorrow and place it
into the abundant sun
where
he’ll make a mirror

small enough to carry
big enough to watch
foreign eyes smile
through saffron tears

and maybe learn
to shave the grazes
off the ghost down
to the bones that
figments are built on

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One thought on “plodding

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