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    dots Submission Name: Summer's Ghostdots

    Author: throughmyvoice
    ASL Info:    19/f/US of A
    Elite Ratio:    3.63 - 69/113/51
    Words: 473
    Class/Type: Poetry/Longing
    Total Views: 843
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2912

       "Oh, when I look back now,
    That summer seemed to last forever
    And if I had the choice
    Then yah, I'd wanna be there
    Those were the best days of my life"

    -Summer of '69

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsSummer's Ghostdots

    My thoughts are always haunted
    By the same, incessant, ever-present ghost
    And that ghost is a memory
    One that smells like coconut oils and first-dates
    That tastes like ice cream melting on a cone
    And hot chocolate on those rare occasions there was rain and the fearful thrill of thunder
    (Often accompanied by howling winds, early lightning, and your favorite book)
    And that feels like the teenage drama and sorrow of love, friendship, and pain
    Constantly ordering my thoughts, feelings, and myself about
    (Did I mention my ghost is my self-appointed dictator as well?)
    For, it makes me long for the sweat of the sky, the humid envelope
    And for burning rays of sun to lick my bronzed shoulders and sun-kissed hair
    For the smell of summer roses to perfume from my cheeks
    For the spell of summer romance to rise like the brilliant sun over peaceful, early oceans
    (Sunrises still remind me gently of the glory of the ghost)
    For slightly-too-sweet lemonade under trees
    Desire for flings to fly by like time, and for the time to drip
    Like hardening clover honey from the plastic bear bottle
    And yearning, for my eyes to see unfamiliar faces and unexplored lands
    Places where I can be anything, and anything is possible
    Dark paths, lecherous villains, knights-in-shining-armor or swim trunks
    And places where I am a little child’s super-hero
    Ghostly lingerings make me covet, for my arms to once again,
    Be encircled by the arms of others that have held me tightly in the past
    And those who have not had the experience till then
    The feelings, whether comfort or passion, are what I long to be consumed by once again
    And still, wrapped in my blanket of nostalgia
    (Borrowed for the moment, thanks to my personal ghost)
    Is what I blame for my uncontrollable thoughts, as they stray again
    I want my heart to be handled by those I have met, and the strangers
    Now not so strange, to yet again
    Touch my heart and leave marks
    Bruises, and yes, a few cracks
    All beautiful graffiti that I would never cleanse off the wall of my soul
    And though I resist the endless temptation of borrowing that blanket
    (To warm my heart and soul, for just a few blissful moments)
    At times, when the season of my heart is winter rage
    On days, where the sunshine in my soul also becomes a ghost trapped in an icy cage
    Rarely, can I indulge in my hunger
    The memories too rich, and too much of a good thing
    Like my favorite flourless, chocolate cake, still warm from the oven
    So on occasion, I’ll dip my toes into my pool of memories
    But to dive in is just a despairing request…
    To have my heart broken till next summer’s ghost

    Submitted on 2005-09-12 22:55:02     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      you brought the "ghost "to life beautifully,such a beautiful,flowing piece of work which was perfectly ended by the last lines.actually gave me visions of being in a hammock gently swinging to the pace of this poem on some romantic island in the sun under palm trees and stuff
    | Posted on 2005-09-14 00:00:00 | by gd66uk | [ Reply to This ]
      I can't believe that no one has commented on this piece yet. This was amazing. Truly, one of the best pieces that I've ever had the pleasure of reading on this site. The description and imagery were downright beautifully done. I can't think of any place where anything is lacking.

    As I was reading this piece, it not only made me think of the summer season, but of my favorite season, Autumn. To read your interpretation got me thinking about what I felt as well.

    To put it blatantly. This piece is poetic rapture.
    It's love, life, soul, and passion eloquently portrayed.

    Also, I liked the ghost theme. It makes this piece somewhat surreal. Your thoughts and memories of the summer are real, yet somehow they aren't there while you think back.
    | Posted on 2005-09-13 00:00:00 | by Ravenwood | [ Reply to This ]

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