Ghosts - Guests Poem by Michael Maxwell Steer

In the full moon
ghosts throng the room.
Tho none speaks
they're like the clangour
of servants' bells
in an empty corridor
agitated
by unseen hands, all
demanding responses
simultaneously.

Block them out -
the bells - run away.
Go sit in the warm night
under the pear blossom.
Leave the bells
to ring unattended.
They do not matter:
it is your heart that matters.

Don't let ghosts
take it away from you.
Stand your ground
in the chiselled shadows:
wrestle back
your inalienable right to exist
from the spectral fingers
plucking you towards their half life -

hands whose dead hopes
and half-fulfilled ambitions
tell unhappy
tales of empty rooms
to which no guests
invited ever came;
of lovers' trysts
that ended sad alone;

or the mountain
pathway we mistook
and so descended,
failing to reach the summit.
Banish those ghosts
and listen to your heart -
the blood still pumps,
the breath of life still comes.

In these simple
facts redemption lies.
Yet if that's not
enough, there is a teacher
who awaits you:
a spirit guide within
your very ear.
Quiet those ringing bells

(your tinnitus) ,
dismiss those pressing guests.
Be in the glory
of the night alone.
Allow the quiet
voice of love to come,
sounding its ancient
ever-renewing melody:

harmony of the
spheres, whose tonal arc
begins and ends
in every human heart.
Here now in this
resonant moonlight, a guide
comes to welcome
you back to your lost estates.

On your shoulder
a hand - when you turn
to see, whom will
that look of love resemble?


20/10/2008