The Spectre

Photo Credit: Stefano Pollio | Unsplash

There is a spirit that wanders my hallway at night.

Awake and restless, she cannot find peace, or respite.

Soulful and sad, she seeks what is out of reach.

Her loneliness enveloped in silence; devoid of solace, devoid of speech.

Yet she walks my halls, and she unsettles me

She means no harm, she is just lonely.

Oh, how she would like to rest her weary head,

Close her tired eyes, and dream instead.

The street lights illume her steps and her tired frame,

A spectre of her own making, a haunting of her own domain.

The life drained from her by someone she once knew,

A love unrequited, a heart cast askew.

She is an accretion of her unsavoury past, 

Effects of many a shadows that were cast--

"All good things must come to an end; 

Beware! There are tears beyond every happy bend."

Her demons walk alongside her--whispering her every sin.

A constant reminder of failings, in the quiet din.

The darkness that makes her, every night, manifest

Keeps her up, gives her no rest.

The sun will rise again, and she will dissipate,

In the brightness of day, hope, and a life, insatiate.

But tonight, when all is quiet and the light is gone,

I will meet her wandering, again forlorn.

She is no stranger to me, this restless spirit you see?

This spirit, this soul, this spectre, is me.