Ghosts admist the moonlight (A recollection)

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    Ghosts admist the moonlight (A recollection)

    Wondering of u, as my eyes caught a glimpse in the moonlight. My mind photographed the picture as I passed by & I exhaled.

    At home I wrote, typing everso intense of the description, locale, & time. Oh, to reminencse.

    U play, like a film never to stop reeling in my mind. To everwant to see u again. I attend at the usual parloure to see if u were there.

    I see u again, but as I go to u, u fade, as if u were a ghost. Maybe, just maybe that spot is special, a spot of love...lost that was to be found.

    U wondered every thursday night... the street, as if lost or looking for. No wonder I...I was intrigued, I smirked as if I had a new play toy...no, a new body to devour at my leisure.

    I stand at the other end just to see u...till u fade, till u are found or till he comes, maybe u will wonder no more forever lost like a dream...damn.

    Still, I will be mystified by u, as u stream across the pebble-cobble street with your beautiful hair in a french roll, your lavender dress, white gloves, white boots & glasses....waiting for him, but I know that he won't come.

    My mind photographed a picture, as my eyes caught a glimpse, I exhaled, turning to leave u amist in the moonlight as I fade.


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    When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

    John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA