This ghost,

he wanders through the stars

that twinkle in my eyes,

and whispers sweet flatteries

or sings soft lullabies.

He embraces my spirit,

dances with it for awhile,

through the corridors of memory,

and the chambers of denial.

This ghost,

he caresses my cheek,

when the world has lost its breeze,

and paints before my eyes,

stories of joy, and tragedies.

He watches from afar,

as I glide through life like he,

and holds me closer still,

as I embrace his mystery.

This ghost,

he slips away through

my arms, which hold just air,

and slowly dims the stars

in my eyes that blankly stare,

after this ghost, as he departs,

transforming glorious to grim,

and, leaving me to wonder,

did I just imagine him?