Each night, without exception,
I communicate with the dead,
My body burns with fever
As they come inside my head.
Some camouflage themselves as dreams,
But I know they are my ghosts –
From days of war that I have lived,
And a few from older poems I wrote.
Some have come for vengeance –
Others understand –
Some are afraid of been alone,
And a few of them are friends.
Amongst them is a woman,
That years ago I could not save,
So some nights when the others leave,
We fall once more, into embrace.
© Fingleton (Mai 2016) (Löst Viking)