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Ghost of My Past
by Chris Ingham
The ghost of my ever present
Past prances and dances unendingly
Upon the moon shadowed pattern
Of the ebbing and flowing sands
Of my treacherous memory.
I try, oh God I try, to block
Her out, but she won't let me rest.
She tides upon the breakwater
Of my soul, swamping my rocky
Fašade of cool indifference.
In darkest night she swells my guilt
Into moon driven spring breakers
Which pile against the stone sea wall
Of my past, the sands of her hurt.
But deep down, in my core, I know
The flowing tides of spring will ebb
And I will lay, through pen and ink
The ghost of her to final rest.
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