I heard the phantom’s whisper. But can the dead really speak to the living? I numbed at the thought momentarily and then laughed off the possibility because science told me so. The whisper of the phantom came and went for a second time. So I questioned the occurrence once more.  *Can the dead really speak to the dead?

She is a ghost
In her own home
Drifting from
Room to room,
A phantom
Rattling chains
In the early
Morning gloom

She wrings her hands
And curves her spine
And spends
The night alone
Watching time
As it passes by
In a world she's seen
Yet never known.

If there comes a day
When death takes me away
I want no sorrow,
I wasn't built to stay.

If there comes a day
When my body is put to lay
I need you to smile
With no delay.
I used up my color,
All that was left turned gray.

If there ever comes a day
When I look like a stray or exist far away,
You should justly know
The world never heaped it's weight
And that...
I want it to be this way.

interested,
well,
I
raise the tone
and lower
the volume,
when I say hello.

I manage to
control the clues
I send to you:

I look at your eyes,
let you catch me
gazing lovingly
at your face,
Am truly interested in
what you say,
wink when I pinch
myself
asking is she really mine?,

Blush on cue, when
you do.
laugh when I topple my beer
act non-plussed
when you are
plussed.

I think that I shall never see
A leaf as lovely without a tree
When it falls upon the ground
So gently placed to be found.
A child gathers it in her hands
Carefully places it on the sands
Hoping to grow a brand new tree
For all the world new life to see.

Bring me your pain;
the hollow aching of your tired heart and the scars that run deep down to your bones.

Bring me your sorrow;
the loneliness that anchors you,
the hopelessness that has built its way into your core.

Bring me your suffering;
the silent storm that crushes you,
the infinite emptiness that consumes you.

Bring me your brokenness,
the sharp and scattered pieces of your dismantled self.


Come to me in fragments,
and let me love you whole again.

"Tell me what love is," he demands
and I answer in the most illogical
way I can ever think of
I answer;

It is when I met you the first time
and I knew I'd marry you in 7 years
It is when you're mad at me but
somehow you look peculiarly cute
It is when I left because you ****
but I held your string tight in my hand
It is when I know there are billions,
no, trillion souls, yet I stick with yours

"you are insane," he mocks me
and I laugh, "but love is insane!"
he kisses my lips and whispers
"then you're the answer to my question"