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Ghost of the Present
October 15, 2008
Finding a cause for faith,
And a reason for life
Too late, I see, for it is already dark out
And I am without a light
My black dress dances in the night wind
Watery, dense eyes are stagnant and still
My hair stands on end, erect with the chill of death
But my tense grip takes your once fertile hand
Giving a breath of life to the memories,
I ponder evenings past
Evenings that are slowly fleeting from my grasp
And there you stand, in that satin white dress
Smiling as if this were the grave of immortality,
And here all truth become lies
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