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.