GHOST

By M.E.G.

Icy claws prise my soul from its body,

scooped hollow dirty spoon

on the draining board,

an empty shell left to wander daily life.


Thunder clouds hang under

eyes of coal from Santa’s sack,

dark beginnings and endings bleed

into chapped skin

intersecting streams turn fingers

the faded colours of Winter’s rainbow.


This shell of bones and flesh

carries out it’s daily routine

as I watch from a distance,

floating fading!

a ghost risen to haunt another year.


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