Am I the only one, who
can really, truly see them?
Those folk, who quietly
appear before me & then,
Disappearing softly, just
as soon as they had come,
Leaving upon cold mists
& a soft whispered hum.
Those ghosts, spectres,
spirits & dark scary spooks,
Told as myths, around
firesides & tales in old books,
Gently touching my cheek,
with fleeting night fingers,
Blowing kisses in my ear,
with breath that softly lingers.
Tell me, am I the only one,
or can you see them too?
All those loved ones, belonging
still, to me & to you,
The ghosts of those dead people,
now so long gone,
Disappearing in our dreams,
prayers & forgotten songs.
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