Little ghost you weave and writhe
In the shadows, posturing.
Frightful wailing, a thin veiled lie.
Neath the glass I see you suffer.
Incorporeal, frenzied fists
If only whole might cause to shatter.
Return thee now into the abyss!
Where in you remain unbothered.
Familiarity pacifies.
Rest ye now in yonder cradle!
Until once more I call my muse
Lament in darkness theretofore.
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Author:
Alex Arnot (
Offline) - Published: September 29th, 2026 00:59
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments2
A lovely write of the calling of the muse. Mine does not respond to calls but rather I have to travel with pen so that when it is her fancy I am prepared. I love the wording in this piece it rings with a classical flare and feels so right or should I say write.
Thank you! Travel always compels her and it is "write" indeed!
You are very welcome Alex
There’s a damn haunted theatricality here, with the little ghost writhing beneath glass like a trapped piece of the speaker’s imagination that refuses to stay quiet. The final invocation of the muse is the keeper for me, because it reveals the ghost may not be something to banish at all, but the dark little creature the poet must call back whenever the writing needs to begin.
Hit the nail on the head sir! Thank you Thomas!
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