Litkicks Message Board Archive

the silent ghosts

Posted to Action Poetry




the static white crackle of
a snowfilled noonday
dream of a sky,
saturated with voiceless
ghosts floating in the ether,
robbed of organs,
frozen, lost, expressionless-
filled with love.
no language, no symbols
no reference but descending snowflakes
and themselves,
each individual spirit its own particular
final emotion,
its own particular variation
on the universal theme.

The daily european window-pane
hum of wind rushes south
from the world's true cemetaries,
those barren white lands
of tundra and static.

The daily wind always carries with it more
hushed, benevolent presences seeking
inaudibly, to change the spirit of our world.