The ghosts of a jagged childhood want to play
with other ghosts who wake me in the night:
a clan of silenced voices from the past,
all seeking to be reckoned in their way.

Withheld Apology will never speak;
arms crossed, stands ever mindful of her choice
to be forever final, ever right,
inculpable, unflinching. Never weak.

Beside her, in abject complicity,
the spectre of Protector, compromised:
the one who chose to look the other way
looks now to bury his duplicity.

The chilly ghost of Severance holds her breath
as if to keep her heart from bleeding dry,
as if to stifle sentiment that stirs
unsettled by her memories of death.

In madness and frustration, Thwarted Dreams
runs circles trying to find the hidden stairs
that might have led to panoramic scenes
of talent, fed by focus and esteem.

The ever-hovering ghost of Grief Denied
refuses to be finished her lament;
her ever-lingering sadness never leaves,
insists another verse is justified.

Unspoken Longings yearn to speak their need,
as secret Doubts and Fears voice their dismay;
the Unborn long for naming, and a face,
the Unknown to be tasted, felt, and seen.

The ghosts of ever-after never sleep,
their relics ever rising in the night—
only to stir the waters, brush the cheek,
rousing the dead to play at hide and seek.

*Quotation: Frederick Chopin

ABOUT THIS POEM

I was haunted by this quote from Chopin, and the poem came quickly. The past is never far from our dream life.