Ghost-ridden

poem

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Last night I heard your footsteps in the hall –
You, twelve years dead, still coming after me,
So cemetery stones are liars all.
 
Sometimes I dreamt that you spoke through the wall
And peered through  cracks unceasingly –
Last night I heard your footsteps in the hall.
 
You spoke, at night a wretched, wordless squall
In light, aped the voice of vanished seas;
So cemetery stones are liars all.
 
I thought I dreamed you up, could not recall
What slip of tongue or mind had set you free;
Last night I heard your footsteps in the hall –
 
And there, on the floor, your shadow sprawled;
It smiled and jerked and bowed with hollow glee –
So cemetery stones are liars all.
 
I would, I could, I cannot leave, enthralled
To your shade, your empty voice, my agony –
Last night I heard your footsteps in the hall,
So cemetery stones are liars all.

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