I have dreamed a hundred whispers
Whispered in the moon lit sky
Some were soft while others
Were often loud
Those scared me
And I ran back to my dead mother’s arms
She always held me tight
And always will
It’s hard for some people to see a ghost
And even if they do
they only see a ghost.
It’s like looking as a burnt out light bulb
and seeing a burnt out light bulb
Only the filament is dead
As only the heart and lungs are dead.
I would like–someday–to grow a thousand feet tall
And look into Heaven and wave hello to mom
But–I’d never wave goodbye
I did that once . . . and once is too many times.
To read my thoughts about writing this poem, follow this link.