Ghosts – silence

An investigation for jesters

and saints,

this sadness of a man,

this separated ghost,

this disconnected stare

in brittle glass,

unrecognized reflection

of nothing known

in this frozen liquid sand,

pinned to a drawing board,

crucified

in clouds of calendars

and an ambiance

of echoing silence.

 

Ghost of a ghost

exiled from connection

to all familiar senses,

wandering lost

in a papier-mache world

filled with mute puppets

and the creeping feet of madness

drifting on autumn leaves,

the dumb changing of seasons

and the cold winds to come.

 

There was a voice once

filling days and nights,

sweet ectoplasms of love

buried now in the heavy quiet

of collapsing bridges

and the broken entities of light.

 

There was a precious presence

partnering in mirrors,

a twinning wholeness

held gently in his hands,

now crumbling into dust

and blown on September winds

across a face

that is a stranger to itself.

 

There was music and whispers

tongued and lipped

across vibrating cells,

songs of angels and dreamers

gagged now and gone,

leaving a face alone

to face itself,

a double haunting.

ex silentio.

 

 

self-portrait drawing and poem by clinock.

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