Ghost

So empty;
like a hollow vase
but without the china clay shell.
Nothing inside or out
No future or present
and a small, insignificant past.
I see my life before me
as I’ve seen everyone in the world live it,
similarly, exactly the same.
There’s nothing unexpected to come
as it is all expected.
Am I really here, twiddling this
broken tipped pen?
Seems like one of my dreams…
But my dreams end. This doesn’t.
It just goes on and on and on,
through the tears and the rising of the sun.
Everyday, every single short-lived day.

I don’t hope for the impossible,
I’m not that naïve,
but I don’t feel anything for the possible -
no fear, no excitement. Just an emptiness…
Only small things hold me here,
I’m a voluntary captive with a sad longing
to break free.
Oh, wondering ponderables…

Like a silk curtain drawn over
what is outside this place,
I feel I am confined to four
white-washed walls disguised as a
large blue globe.
If only I could rip apart the silk! To
break through to another layer,
somewhere more…
somewhere – not different – but more
fulfilling.

I feel I shall be empty forever,
Nothing to cure me,
Nothing to tempt me,
or repulse violently,
or hate passionately,
or love wonderfully.
I guess I’m trapped –
trapped – but not alone.