#351 (Ghosts)

Words

I left in

the rain, to

be washed away

or get cleared

from foul connotations.

They are still haunting

me, a multisyllabic gurgle

from the drains. Ghosts

of unrhymed verse

waiting to be picked up

by some phantom muse

or floating back to the pool.

My dreams are not my own

anymore, they are inhabited

by metaphoric chimera,

cutting my subconscious.

Those poetic spectres

like a milky glaze on

my imagination, a reminder

of unborn poems.

© Matthias Geh, 27th June 2018

 

 

 

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