Ghost Writing

I dipped my pen and wrote with ink distilled from my marrow 
and the words writhed and smoked upon the page
and where it touched me 
my hand was burned
I wrote from half remembered dreams of childhood and wishes upon long exploded stars
but the ink was watercolor pale and melted away, clinging briefly to the edges and then…
My nightmare thoughts made black smears over the paper
 but didn’t spell out the words
 only hinted dreadful things and then changed when I tried to look closer
shifting into another language
and I was exhausted from the work
and the pages were bellowing for me to fill them
so I penned a sigh
and a memory
and they softened and quieted 
and then I wrote your name…


About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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3 Responses to Ghost Writing

  1. beingeternal says:

    Wonderful post. Thoughts are beautifully reflected.

  2. “the pages were bellowing for me to fill them”…your words create such wonderful images. Be-you-tiful writing!! Blessings!

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