Ghost (Unbelonging)

I walk by you on the street

But you look right through me.

Something in your eyes

Tells me you don't even see me.

I try to say hello

But my words fall to the floor.

It's like I'm talking to myself,

Can anybody help?

This feels something like death.

If only it would end!

I'm a ghost now.

A roving ghost- how

Do I get back to life

And become something new?

I'm a spectre.

A shadow on the border of your vision.

A discharged soldier.

A solo goer.

A spy without a mission.

I watch the life I used to lead:

The loves, the hates,

The shallow greed,

Go on like pictures on a screen.

I haunt the old, familiar places

But I don't recognise the faces.

The past has gone and left no traces.

Time drags on but also races,

Leaving me...

Just a lonely ghost now.

A ghost child looking through a window

At a life he could have lived;

That once was his

Till things he did

Changed everything

And so he's stuck out on a bridge

In between existences.

And nothing fills

The void within

Cause neither side is truely his.

So I linger on

Though I don't belong

Here anymore.

I reminisce

On days like this

And wish...

A ghost child

Amongst the blind,

Looking at 

What isn't mine.

A ghost child.

Detached, benign

I see it all

And can't help but smile.

Summer...

He is a tease; 

A flirt with eyes of gold

Or, at best, a respite from the cold.

The warmth he brings

A passing guest,

A stranger,

A traveller on a quest

En route to other parts

That he knows best.

A visitor.

A tourist.

A frequent flyer.

Not a resident

Or a citizen

But a gun for hire,

While winter's chilly arms are far reaching

Ever groping,

Ever seeking.

Even during her time away,

Her icy fingers often stray

Into pools where children splash and play.

She recks nothing of the glad sun's rays

That bathe the land in estival days.

Her caress an echo of attenuated power,

A predator awaiting her hour,

A grip relaxed but not released;

A victor preparing for the feast.

So what then is summer to a child

Birthed by the waters of a tropical tide

But a brief truce, a merry farce

A pale imitation to make the gods laugh;

An offering to placate and mellow

Before a fresh onslaught 

From the frost giants' bellows?

Summer...

A living vision, a waking dream

That dissipates like a puff of steam

On the breath of a frozen scream.
Transient,
Ethereal,
And surreal.