Your ghost still haunts me,
a crumbling memory.
Your spirit still follows me,
a problem I just can’t remedy.
I called the poets and I called the priests,
but your image lives in my mind persistently.
I hear your voice echo through the streets,
the ghost of you exists only to me.

Your ghost taints my serenity,
and sprinkles poison in my tea.
I called the artists and I called the angels,
but I still hear your laugh rustle through the leaves.
The ghost of you is close to me,
a phantom in my reality.



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