unspoken

Ghosts are not always frightening, and sometimes we hold them hostage rather than the other way around.

The Poetry Bus runs on Monday, and Liz Gallagher asks that we write a triolet or some other poem about Halloween business. This poem began as a triolet and evolved into a villanelle. It's funny how words will have their way.

Or will they? 

UNSPOKEN

all my ghosts are friends
things I should but did not say
I’m haunted by my sins

damnation never ends
redemption lies one breath away
all my ghosts are friends

familiars whom I did not send
but held until the tongue decay
I’m haunted by my sins

unspoken and unpenned
persistent shades with whom I lay
all my ghosts are friends

whose present tense attends
to bind and hold my soul in sway
to things I should but do not say

till time shall split and world transcend
till reticence shall fall away
all my ghosts are friends
things I should but do not say