Swirling, twisting, turning thoughts,
where life and imagined meet.
Long forgotten graveyard plots,
and grass beneath my feet.
Making sense of what I’ve seen,
one links to another.
Simple truths that I have gleaned,
memories I had smothered.
Fanciful beasts, they dance around,
like sprites inside my head.
Contrasting those beneath the ground,
held tight by words long dead.
Images come and then are gone,
that’s when I come to find.
They’re simply ghosts residing long,
in the graveyard of my mind.
Listen to In Morning Mists: