Ghost Or Poltergeist Poem by Patti Masterman

I've been chased by things almost formless
in a void fertile only with horror;
bodies made of black energy,
burnt roots, twisted wire-
invisible to all but psyches eyes.

No speed can shake them off
no devotions dislodge them;
and left behind, a feeling of filth,
as nerves crawl restlessly,
the only rooted memory.

Whether they died or ever breathed at all
doesn't really matter;
they can keep running till time itself runs out
and are far too intelligent
to be called merely ghost, or poltergeist..