Friday, December 18, 2009

you could never love me back.

Pale shapes advancing from the midnight air,
Beckoning with misty fingers round my bed,
Bending your faded faces o'er my head,
I have no fear of ye! I seem to share
Your dim vitality -- mine's well-night fled.
I feel the human outlines melt away;
These thin, gray hands that lie on the damp sheet
Are almost vapory enough to meet
lovelywoods by motionslow.
Yours in the grasp of fellowship. My hair
~ by motionslow.
Seems turning into cloud. The quickening clay
waitforthesummer by motionslow.
That walls me in is cracking, and I strive
Towards ye through the breach. Am I alive?
Or are ye dead? All's vague -- a wide, gray sea.
Hark! the cock crows! Now, spirits, welcome me!

"The Ghosts" by Fitz-James O'Brien
Photographs by Michela Heim

I am trying to rid myself of ghosts.
Christmas time is working against me..