Ghost

It exists without purpose, no sense of being,
Would you fear it or do you pity the thing?
Time and again, it stays its own course,
Like that nagging and annoying, unbalanced force.

Aware or not, of its existence are thou?
Even if it stands, in front of you now?
A freak of nature, is what it is to you,
A being that’s just there, but gives nothing new.

Are you curious, of what it is?
Wishing to find reason, on why it is?
Doesn’t matter, because it’s out of your control,
Ignore it shall you, for its useless role?

Or are you full of pity, from a sympathetic heart,
Do you wish to give it, a whole new start?
Oh kindness galore, but you are beating the wall,
For sympathy cannot rejuvenate its current stall.

Are you then angry, of so useless a thing?
Taking worthwhile space, from another useful being,
Though it naught disturbs you, but makes you angry,
Just because it is there, and does you no good?

Are you simply indifferent, to this bloody ghost?
To keep living as usual, in your own world closed?
It’s existence so trivial, like sand on a beach,
That you simply place yourself, beyond its reach.

Or are you moved, by it motives unclear,
On why it exists, when it has nothing here?
Would you be-friend such, a creature so wretched,
And pull it out of its rut, are you so kindred?

For your actions say, who you really are,
And if such Ghosts seek you out, or stay afar,
For you may be their fear, or their salvation,
And maybe save them from, their own damnation!

And now you ask, which one of this I belong to,
If you haven’t guessed, you’ve never known me true,
Existing endlessly, without knowing why,
The ghost indeed, is what I really am!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License

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