Tags
blind eye, little ghost, poem, Poetry, posting, sonnet, soothsaying
In a way it’s just like loving a ghost.
Even on our “date” you vanished long
enough to be rude. “Only you,” you boast;
but as I read your new posts am I wrong
to doubt that truth? The problem with the dead
is that they don’t change. You can beg, threaten
and wail but it changes nothing. I’ve said
I hate not trusting you, but that question
refuses to die when I read your posts.
Why hire a soothsayer when I know I
deserve better? — Ghosts might even agree,
they just refuse to stop; that’s why they’re ghosts.
That’s why I’ve finished turning a blind eye.
Little ghost, keep posting. I set you free.
