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The 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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