May 18, 2005

The Haunting

There’s a ghost in the house;
he crawls along the yellow walls,
and into the chequered curtains.
He enters my dreams
and I know that I am haunted
and cannot forget
the sound of his voice and the
touch of his hands.
There is a ghost in the house,
and so I leave the colour and the comfort,
and sleep alone in the cold.

- One comment Not publicly viewable

  1. niki

    I like this, but you need to ask yourself a question: why is this a poem, rather than prose? I think it would have more impact as prose, a fragment, reminiscent of a diary entry perhaps. The voice in the poem is plain speaking and earnest. The realism is what is really 'haunting' about the poem, the juxtoposition of the domestic and comforting, with the unknown. Having it in form makes the whole thing seem too self-conscious for me, and ruins it.

    21 May 2005, 00:46

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