I never see dead people now,
They have all abandoned me.
No unexpected breeze behind my chair;
The swish of silken curtains,
Or the soft sound of footsteps, on the stairs.
I lie awake at midnight,
And stare into the dark;
Then the darkness in its turn, stares back at me.
No shadow dons the shroud of death;
There is nothing, but the night for me to see.
I’ve searched for them in churchyards,
And houses of the dead,
All places where they normally are seen.
But all I found was solitude, and people laying flowers;
It just seemed like, they had never been.
This only happened recently,
When I was left alone;
Before that, they were everywhere I’d be.
Now I’ve began to wonder, perhaps in truth it’s I am dead,
And they in fact, are really seeking me.
© (Löst Viking) (April 2015) John Anthony Fingleton