And then, you would call
when no one at all
would least of all
     expect it.

And again, complain
– again, the same –
The same old feeling,
     of discomfit.

How life is so bad,
and how you’re so sad,
     but there’s nothing
     to be done
     about it.

How you wished
you were dead.
     – well, that’s what you said –
And with flourish,
to finish,
     you’d shout it.

And now, here at last,
     in time, come to pass,
you got what it was
that you wanted.

No more do you call,
and that isn’t all,
it’s the curse
that yourself
you’ve incanted

that haunts me yet still,
     – and forever it will! –
it’s your loss,
which still leaves me
     much daunted.

This doesn’t surcease
to give me the peace,
so I say, in a way,
     I’m still taunted

by your spectral ghost;
it has me as host –
     forever, evermore,
I’m still haunted.

There’s no happy ending.
Your ghost is still pending,
     living on
even though
you are dead.

And here you shall stay,
with me      – ‘Till away!
If you call it living
to be haunting
my head.
Copyright © 2012 Marvin Loyd Welborn. All Rights Reserved.
Revised 13 June 2013

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