Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Real Ghosts Aren't Dead Yet

My investment decisions,
Of credit, effort, and time,
Had followed my convictions
As night follows day. One day,
Night fell. The sun that returned
Belonged to other persons,
Was no longer real to me,

Threw a strange light, like shadow
Masquerading as sunlight,
Like the undeniably
Sunlit but pallid candor
At the peak of an eclipse,
Like the ghost of clear weather
When ashes float on the air.

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