The Haunting
How
quickly the ghost of my Self
runs past my open door,
hoping I won’t see her
and try to stop her.
She seeks higher ground,
away from my rising river of fears
that will drown us both if she falters.
A tunnel curves through the darkness
and illuminates the way.
But no blinding light waits at the end
to guide her – just more tunnel,
carving a path to the hereafter.
runs past my open door,
hoping I won’t see her
and try to stop her.
She seeks higher ground,
away from my rising river of fears
that will drown us both if she falters.
A tunnel curves through the darkness
and illuminates the way.
But no blinding light waits at the end
to guide her – just more tunnel,
carving a path to the hereafter.
Cynthia Pitman
I am a retired high school English teacher. I
began writing again this past summer after a 30-year hiatus. I have recently
had poetry published in Vita Brevis, Postcard Poems and Prose, Right
Hand Pointing, Ekphrastic Review, Literary Yard, Amethyst
Review, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Three Line Poetry, Leaves
of Ink, Third Wednesday, and Mused. I have had fiction published in Red
Fez, Saw Palm: Florida Literature and Art and Dual Coast Magazine. My first poetry collection, The White
Room, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books.
Tags:
Poetry