d’verse Quadrille #26 – ghost
Kim has us ghost busting today at the Poets Pub. I’m afraid mine turned a little maudlin. It’s not based on anything personal, just how my muse chose to write today.
~
Just Gone
I searched for you
Among the tumbled
Crumbled tombstones
I sat quietly in
Vaulted cathedrals
Watching flickering candles
But you did not appear
Not a wisp or
A touch of cold air
You are nowhere
There is no ghostly you
To fill this void
rhymeswithbug 
Oh this is so very sad…..when someone is gone and we cannot “feel” them anymore, anywhere.
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I really enjoy those internal rhymes (tumbled/Crumbled), Candy, and the image of flickering candles in vaulted cathedrals – haunting in themselves. But how sad and poignant the disappointment of the longed-for ghost not appearing. I’ve been talking to my mum in the hope that she might come back to me for a ghostly visit. Nothing yet.
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Thanks Kim. Maybe they appear or respond in some form we could never imagine
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Lovely words…I still look for my mum…sometimes we never stop looking. XXX
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The endless search for answers…waiting and searching… I hope their loved one visits soon.
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You give voice to endless, boundless search for answers… sigh.. eloquently penned!
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Thanks so much, Sanaa
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Oh, bleak. Not maudlin at all.
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Beautifully sad.
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Coldest emptiness…the ending is sadly beautiful ~
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Thanks for your thoughts 😊
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Such sad words but written beautifully.
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Thank you
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I enjoyed the setting. It made a lovely picture.
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Thank you 😊
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It is sad not to see even the ghost of a loved one anymore.
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So emotionally powerful!
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So sad to feel that void. So very sad.
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Love this piece even though some might find it sad I like the realism.
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Thanks Paul 😊
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great poetry… I can feel this cold moment alone in this cathedral. Thank you, your muse and sending some warm greetings from Germany
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Thank you! I could use some warm here.
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A fiction which taps into a reality many must have experienced. I found myself moved by it.
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Thanks much!
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Your muse was looking to express a sadness that many feel. I agree with Paul that acceptance brings realism, but my daughter does smell my mother’s ghostly presence at times.
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My muse knows me better than I know myself. Monday would have been my mother’s birthday.
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Poetry can be a wonderful vessel for the unexpressed subconscious. 😉
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