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Grief of a Ghost

The light I always imagined
The transportation I have longed
Have not come of this new state
What have I done to be so wronged?

All around me has not changed
The house I always knew
And the walls the same color
The air the same hue

Yet when I lift my hand
In front of my cold face
I see right through the figure
Barely a line left to trace

As I take a step, or clench my fist
I feel my limbs as floating gossamer
My whole form is but a mist
I never imagined it would be like this
When I ceased to exist

I hear in the next room
Cries of weep and woe
Familiar cries of my mother, my father
But never of such unequalled sorrow

Quickly I rush into the room
To see lament so loathsome
I place my hand on my father's shoulder,
To the shock I can't help but succumb

No touch have I felt
My hand has gone right through
As if nothing was there
Can this horror be true?

Loudly I call out his name
Doesn't seem to hear
I cry out, louder louder, still
Does he not know I'm here?

Suddenly the sobbing ceases
He turns his head, facing me
Looks straight through my eyes
And I know it's not me he sees

The helplessness takes over me
I'm right here father, can't you see?
I'm not in that coffin
I'm finally free

But free from what?
Life's trivial strife?
Nothing could compare to this torment,
Of non-existing life

Of all myriads of mourn
Of all the pain that hurts most
What sorrow is the worst of all?
The grief of the living, or the grief of a ghost?

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Editing stage: 


Your poem has a lot of pathos, sometimes to the point of melodrama, but has enough power as metaphor to make it a striking read. The only issues I have are on the surface. As a ghost (assuming female from the Neo name alone) trying to be seen by her family reads to me as being arch at times. Also there is a small grammatical error in the last line of stanza 9: I should be replaced by me.
That said, as a metaphor of a young girl longing for her true self to be acknowledged and at times not even being able to see herself, this is a powerful, heart-breaking piece of mature work with a very strong fiinish. I love the visual images also; they are very effective. I will certainly be looking out for your future works.

You have the mojo.


Blue Demon77

"What I want is to be what I was before the knife,
before the brooch pin, before the salve, fixed me in this parenthesis:
Horses fluent in the wind. A place, a time gone out of mind."

The Eye Mote-Sylvia Plath

Thanks so much for your feedback! It really means a lot to hear that. I'm not entirely sure what you mean by "arch" though, could you explain?
I actually never thought of this as a metaphor, that's very interesting that you thought of it in that way.
Thanks again!

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