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    dots Submission Name: A Private Hauntingdots

    Author: Runes
    Elite Ratio:    5.29 - 790/815/281
    Words: 187
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 1172
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1098


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    dotsA Private Hauntingdots

    I thought you were a ghost
    I see you so little, but your things are still here
    and they move around on their own sometimes,
    like stacked coins rearranging their patterns, or a watch
    that is never constant yet always knows
    the particular time; I see you only
    from the corner of my eye, passing me quickly
    with a hurried motion of going somewhere
    Else. When you're sad and miss me, you come
    and waste your busy time, but lately
    you don't come anymore...

    This cemetery has become my home;
    I died here waiting for you, digging graves
    with my pen among the poetic tomes and tombs
    while you simply brush by, moving in and
    out of the constant fog like the living often do.
    How could you ever miss me when the only part
    of me you loved is always here, a ghost conjured
    back to who I was when I loved you most
    by your mere "hello"... please forgive me
    for ever trying to be more
    than your memory.

    Submitted on 2011-12-03 17:31:34     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      It's the scents that drive me crazy. The scents that linger on your clothes, on your bed, in your house. Every time you get a whiff of nostalgia, the tears come back and swell in your eyes....no matter how long it's been.

    A truly profound piece. And a great perspective.

    | Posted on 2011-12-04 00:00:00 | by OneDarkFlame92 | [ Reply to This ]
      Incredible piece.

    "moving in and out of the constant fog like the living often do..."

    each of us is someone else's ghost.....

    reading this piece conjured up my own personal ghost....my closest friend, Mark, lost 21 years ago to cancer.

    I like to think that when he haunts me, it's because he misses me....the way I miss him.

    | Posted on 2011-12-03 00:00:00 | by rubie | [ Reply to This ]
      "among poetic tomes and tombs"

    "please forgive me for ever trying to be more than your memory"

    that is strong stuff...this piece really moves on its own, sort of like his things that move on their own.

    i like the beginning of the last stanza the way you played on the words...rather than "this home becoming a cemetary" doing the opposite.."i died here waiting for you, digging graves with my pen"

    your words seem to come with ease, so smoothly...and they read the same way.

    this is heart wrenching...

    the ghost going somewhere else...but where?

    anywhere but here so i don't hurt you?

    anywhere but here so i don't see you and hurt myself?

    really feel this piece...and remember Paula when i read it....i still her, in my mind and often times in reality i think i do.

    she had such a big part of my heart...i think she stays near...and she has been gone for 27 years.

    as personal as this is for you, it is universal for us...we all have our personal hauntings.

    | Posted on 2011-12-03 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]

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