She is a ghost, who glides like marshy mist,
unknown, unheard, uncared for and unkissed.
A sad and sorry sight, if truth be told,
since she was once a poet, proud and bold.
But nowadays she sneaks through door and wall,
soliloquizing shadow in a shawl.
And when dawn breaks, she feels that she’s outstayed
her welcome, so her form and features fade.
This ghost, the locals call, The Lady Grey;
she clasps a prayer book in her hand, they say.
But others of a literary bent
say that she holds her lines of lost lament.
Others, who have seen her turn at bay
say that she holds a faded grey bouquet
and when she floats like phantom down the aisle;
she greets the altar with a sneering smile.
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 13th, 2020 08:59
- Comment from author about the poem: For Lorraine, my lady grey
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments2
A real scary description of what ghostly business occurs when apparitions appear to poets with neighbours called Lorraine take to the stage with amazing gifts of imagination. A great read Kevin.
Wonderful dark poem Kevin.
Andy
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