The Ghost and the Writer



The ghost leaned in watching as she wrote
dark words that spilled from her world –
filling the white pages with bleakness.
No hope, she mouthed the words.

The tears fell then; drops on the paper –
rain of emotions that thundered as she cursed.
The ghost frowned; trying to blot the falling tears
with translucent fingers that only touched air.

The pages remaining stained and damp.
The inked words fading.
The anger lifting.
The gray clouds drifting
into the ceiling and corners of the room.

Her storm had cleared to better weather.
The ghost touched her shoulder,
and for once, she didn’t shiver.
Was that a faint smile tugging at her lip?

He kissed her cheek, and she felt the sweet gesture
as if a soft breeze had tickled and teased her.
Thank you, she mouthed the words.
The ghost had never felt more pleased.


(Image from

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