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Ghosts inhabit now my home,
where once the fire cracked sparks,
and when I left,
threads of thoughts hung on to memories,
those strings that hold puppets,
our lives in fairy tales,
a tale that's told,
slowly taking shape.

We grow like trees from little sticks,
fill out, reach up, walk tall,
the sun attracting, the moon distracting,
day and night as one in the attic of our dreams
containing chests of mundane things,
their re enacting whole.

When far from our beginnings,
we count the costs,
weigh the balance of those dreams,
find solace in the contemplation
of what it was to give, to take,
to store,
until they have no meaning any more.

Margaret Ann Waddicor 14th December 2013.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Editing stage: 


Beautifully done,,,


This is the most beautiful poem I've read all week. Thank you!

No verse is free for the man who wants to do a good job. - TS Eliot

Beautiful string of thoughts.
Young Lady, you have a lovely Christmas with those you love,
Our Love always Ian & Anne,
Also the Spirit children as they gather around.
"Especially me" says Sadie.

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

Oh thank you all for the comments, such lovely appreciative ones; we all have chests in the loft of our minds don't we, and in them are all sorts of things, some complex and others simple. It was Joe who instigated this one, thank you Joe.

And may you have a happy season all of you,

Love Ann

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

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