when the ghosts arrive in their little wagons of bone
Wow. This one sank deep in my bones.
The form and punchy diction are multiplying factors in the impact of this poem, despite the mystical topic.
This poem feels like a visitation itself, a quiet arrival of absence pressing at the door.
The ocean without wave becomes a haunting image of stillness, vast yet emptied of breath.
Moonlight is evoked through what is missing, its bullet holes erased, leaving only shadow.
The ghosts in “wagons of bone” carry fragility, a procession of memory more than menace.
Their purpose is uncertain: do they seek what is not yet forgotten, or only silence itself?
The lines ache with ambiguity, holding us between presence and loss, between memory and erasure.
Each fragment feels like breath caught in the throat, almost remembered, almost gone.
The “fire of the shall never be” burns with futility, a truth too heavy to hold.
Visitation here is not comfort but a reminder of impermanence, of longing that cannot be resolved.
Ultimately, the poem is a meditation on absence, where ghosts embody the persistence of memory itself.
stunning, this voice lifts my skin
The ending snuck up on me. Loved the poem. Definitely not boring.
Wow. This one sank deep in my bones.
The form and punchy diction are multiplying factors in the impact of this poem, despite the mystical topic.
This poem feels like a visitation itself, a quiet arrival of absence pressing at the door.
The ocean without wave becomes a haunting image of stillness, vast yet emptied of breath.
Moonlight is evoked through what is missing, its bullet holes erased, leaving only shadow.
The ghosts in “wagons of bone” carry fragility, a procession of memory more than menace.
Their purpose is uncertain: do they seek what is not yet forgotten, or only silence itself?
The lines ache with ambiguity, holding us between presence and loss, between memory and erasure.
Each fragment feels like breath caught in the throat, almost remembered, almost gone.
The “fire of the shall never be” burns with futility, a truth too heavy to hold.
Visitation here is not comfort but a reminder of impermanence, of longing that cannot be resolved.
Ultimately, the poem is a meditation on absence, where ghosts embody the persistence of memory itself.
stunning, this voice lifts my skin
The ending snuck up on me. Loved the poem. Definitely not boring.