The ghost

Here at last is a poem that has pressed me to be written for a long time.  This phantom haunted me almost constantly for years, gradually fading as such shades are wont to do.  Now I rarely see or hear her until I open an old album or listen to certain music.

The imagery is intended to point back to Shadow Thoughts, but the primary juxtaposition is, I hope, obvious.

The ghost

Alone and wandering on a winter day
I clutch my sputtering candle 'gainst the draught,
as shadows among tarnished promises play,
and dusty frozen faces shine and laugh.
Before me now, a rusted lock and bar
hides apparition of affections old,
whose fair form dims through years like youthful scar,
yet murmurs memories piercing, pale, and cold.
So, turning from that wisp wrapped in regret,
I soon recall a warm inviting den --
upon a gilded shelf my candle set
and flee back to my cheery hearth again.
This guttered wick still flickers for that soul,
but in the blaze of thine my heart is whole.