I find myself whispering to the ghosts each night,
The phantom figures, wandering uninvited in my head.
I try to placate these visions from the past
By asking quietly, “Why do you haunt me?”
And with rotting flesh, they stand still, not bothering to flee.
I whisper to the ghosts every day
From round each corner of forgotten stomping grounds.
They wave and cheer as they beg me to join them
But something in the way they sit and stare
Is enough to keep me out of their gruesome lair.
The dog’s snarling kept waking him every time
Every time he closed his eyes. How he had escaped
Only someone else’s God knew.
And apart from one small incident, no harm done.
One dead prison guard, his fault for having eyes.
Providence had provided him with an escape,
Though hard fought: those devil dogs had almost caught him with
The breath that could strip paint from five yards
(Which was only slightly better than his own prison breath)
Had been beating down his neck till he found the station.
A shy oval face, overshadowed by large rimmed glasses
Making his searching eyes everyone’s attention.
Yet no-one seemed to care what was beneath the lens.
He stares at the girl to the side from the far corner
Of his eyes and the corner of the hard seat.
Almost excitedly he watches each turn of the page,
So delicately done by young nicotine stained fingers.
Once he imagined that she looked at him
But then he saw the flicker of her eyes look from the tramp
To the sign above the drivers head.
I don’t know why she decided to trust him once again,
He never was going to change; he had proved that once before.
She had found a way to deal with his madness
She had found a way to deal with her sadness.
But now I fear she has got it into her head
That all that matters is she’s lonely in her bed.
How lonely can you be?
To be blinded by his rage and insanity!
I hear her through our walls, talking to herself
Trying to convince herself that she is right.
Every day she put on the same clean deep blue uniform
Her peroxide stained hair tied back in a bright blue bow.
Her shoes, highly polished, reflected her deeply tired face
As she sees tears streaming causing mascara to run
Down on her cheeks which she lets drop to the floor.
The bus takes her everyday to the airport
Where she waits for her plane to take off.
The panic sets in just before
Take off
As she screams inside her head, the image always there,
As the plane gets delayed time and time again.
It is said that the wind and rain will always be there.
No matter how many times they say that the Earth is dying on us today.
It is said that the sun will continue to shine every day my love,
Even though they can prove it isn’t so with a dozen dossiers.
And now, they have all the proof on camera
It doesn’t lie the way honest men do.
And I find myself hoping they are wrong
And it is all in their heards.
I hope to find that the world will refresh
He sat back and half enjoyed the ride.
The day he lost his driver’s licence
Had in turn, been the worst and best day of his life.
The judge took the keys to his life and threw them
Away
And sentenced him to enjoy conversation on the bus.
He had managed to find a job closer to home.
One Hour
Twice a day,
Back and forth
And the people he met were nice enough.
His thoughts turned to home, five minutes
From the cinema, home to the faithful wife.