Sarah Flanigan - Poetry Simply Put

They come to me
in the night
The traitors dressed
as friends
taP at the windows
of my house of sleep

Luring me from
slumber’s arms
to make their case
prove I’m mistaken
show me the truth..

And they rob the stars
from the sky
Chase the moon
behind the clouds

Crawl into my head
natter on…
relentless and shameless
Saying I did them wrong
yet begging forgiveness
Swearing love
but meaning harm

copyright 2010

Tags: ghosts, Life, original poetry, Poetry, secrets

They gather and
scratch at the edges
and doors of my dreams
Slipping through the
cracks and crevices
blocking the light
bringing the dark
and the Doubts

And I comfort
the useless,
worthless
frightened me
Tell her to
be brave –
that it’s just a
dream
And dreams can
be chased
by the light of
day.
But she doesn’t
believe me
and keeps a
watchful eye
on the Moon.

Copyright 2009

Tags: dark, ghosts, looking glass, my heart, original poetry, Poetry

It was a warm breath at the back of her neck. A poem committed to memory, yet never read. It stalked her - followed her wherever she went. Ever present, yet impossible to capture.

Sometimes quiet, like a low hum that murmurs in the background. Sometimes as tempetuous as a summer lightning storm, crackling against a sultry sky. Usually it was a persistant song that hung in the air and whispered her name. That hovered over her bed at night and crawled into her dreams - teasing her, caressing her and forcing her sleep-heavy eyes open. To look.

But it could not be seen with eyes - only felt in the everywhere of the space. Waiting. Holding its breath and pretending it wasn’t. It was a mirror toward which she reached and was met with a duplication of her own outstretched arm. The heat that emanated from that reflection back at her said, ‘yes, I’m here.’

And she had conversations with herself about it - hoping she was simply going mad and soon would find a medication to turn it off and send it packing. Though she knew it was not madness, nor hallucination - it was real and palpable, dimensional, tactile, smellable, tasteable. With the ability to travel over time and space effortlessly, finding her wherever she was, wherever she hid. It was a surge of heat that shot through her core, found the place where it could nest and call home.

Tags: ghosts

Ghosts playing shadow games
pretending neither is there
listening at the door
open, just a crack
certain in their skillful
invisibility
stupid in their self-confidence
yearning
to be
seen
heard
soothed

The corridors have
perilous turns that
lead to a dead-end maze
the steps must be
retraced
revisited
re-seen
A backward dance
towards truth
a light shone
on the puzzle

What cannot be
admitted
or said aloud
serve as lyrics
for the confusion
and
distrust
and keeps the
hover
going -
keeps each
outside
the door - waiting
Suspended

copyright 2008

Tags: games, ghosts