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The Reluctant Ghost

by Frank Fields
copyright 03-21-2008


Age Rating: 13 +

Why do you come so oft unbidden?
Into my heart which can't stay hidden
Into my soul with grief full-ridden
I saw you as a butterfly
Fly by like flutter-by.

The moon cried tears of blood
And angels wept to see the sight
And hear the sound of caterwauling wail
A love has died in agony
But still you come to taste my tears.

Leave off, be gone, I cast thee hence
All exorcisms known of old
Are useless here as, like a hungry ghoul,
You float and wait, with seeming weep and wail
Hungry in your hiding heart.

But evil, foul, with true intent
Of, in black love's name, my soul to
Rend and render 'til 'tis black as yours
To join you in unholy quest
Of monster feast on virgin souls.

You must be known as Satan's own
For none other would further hurt a hurting heart
But still you hover and you wait
Seeming watching, seeming hearing
With the Devil's lure of love.

Your feast with me is done
As I look round to touch your lips
To see the things we shared
Cinnamon smells and strawberry delights
Warm lights flickered as we held and touched.

Your smooth curves beneath my palms
The blazing passion of your heat
A gentle kiss like honey sweet
These all gone now fading into memory
But still you ask for more.

What can I give that you've not eaten
Devoured like a hungry beast
A lurking monster that wants more
Of soul and heart and all my good
But it's all gone this can't you see.

Would you my life
Your final prize
Satan's daughter's victory
To claim my holy soul as thine
And at my final table feast some more?






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        04-01-2013     Rachel Brown        

Dark poetry .... a very different kind of poetry than what I am personally used to but a well written piece nonetheless I loved its flow its beautiful haunting words alone almost made me cry its truly a beautiful tapestry indeed. Well Done Frank .

        03-21-2008     Richard Reed Jr        

A very well-written piece of "dark" poetry, filled with beautiful metaphors from beginning to end. This piece has a way of playing sad music on my heart strings and has me hoping the voice of the poem is not the author.
Sad, but there's always beauty within the sadness, if the best moments are remembered.

Rich



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