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A Ghost Tale There is a solitude in these lines that the wind cannot break, that the ice cannot down. It is rarely broken by men, or women, even children. It is like the ghost of Hamlet’s father; you engage it in dialogue, this wretched wraith invisible to all other eyes in the chamber. The only ones who break it, the rare ones, they are men, women, or rather were, those who spoke with the wraith, too. And you hear in the symphony of their silence, in the vast alterations of sound coming from the human instrument The walking of a Spirit that puts flesh on where there isn’t even bone. You understand how God became incarnate, and how this singular legion, screaming in a lone man, could really be called out, to hurl itself into the sea. And you believe again, and laugh, as if the slow cost of your death were paid, as if it all, life with all of it, were free. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: DeniMari Z. On Date: 2014-09-25 18:50:53
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Damn you're good - Another fantastic poem that holds this readers attention from first word to the last -
There isn't anything wrong with this poem - I'm sitting here with chills not from just the darkness in it - but for the pure sentiments that I relate to in this piece.
Life is an oddity - too complex for most - so true we laugh as if living in the world was a casual walk in the park -
beautiful poem,
Deni