Ghosts

Ghosts of the past 

In the palpable present

Bitter ghosts 

They move like icebergs,

Evaporated glaciers

in the clammy air.

They glide over the countertop

And pull at the thread

Stitched throughout my heart

They turn you into the king

of pain and the throne

is not my own.

Copyright, Maria Castelli, 2016.

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