Ghosts

 

We all have our ghosts from the past

The kind that tap the shoulder,

Say boo, and leave

A lost, almost remembering

Of things that used to be

 

Through long familiarity I found

that mine are not the haunting kind

no malice – old friends

time worn visions of care

from days of happiness

 

I used to have the other kind,

weevils of the mind

that gnaw and bite,

leaving trail of half dead hopes

polluted by their presence