Ghosts Poem by Mary Champion

Ghosts haunt me.
Wherever I am,
whatever I do,
ghosts lean over my shoulder
and whisper your name.
Ghostly images drift,
aimlessly and hopelessly
through my mind.
Even sleep does not exorcise them.
On the contrary
they solidify
and haunt my dreams.
They are not constrained
by time or season.
It doesn't have to be Hallowe'en -
that would be too predictable,
make them easier to avoid.

Ghosts interrupt my thoughts
and entice me along pointless pathways.
But however real they seem to be,
they never materialize.