Ghost’s Eyes


When roaming through the night
he stopped by the lamppost,
his face turned to the light.
That’s how I saw the ghost.

I had not welcomed drink
to so trouble my sight,
but sleepless I would think,
and by my window write.

So there dreaming I gazed
—I stared—I did not blink—
when with a start, amazed,
I stood; my gut did sink:

Our eyes had locked—how long?—
His eyes within me blazed—
I knew something was wrong.
His bulging eyes were crazed.

I swear my eyes closed not
—and never doubt this song!—
he was and then was naught!
a spirit all along.

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