Ghosts - The Man On The Roof Poem by Paul Warren

Sitting on a seat in the middle of the old part of town
In the middle of a winter's night there is nothing around
The wind whistles a lonesome tune
As eerie a feeling as it's voice will croon

The rain comes and goes as a nuisance
Working night shift attunes my senses
Then I see him out the corner of my eye
And he looked at me as he walked by

Hands in his pockets and a haunted look on his face
He stopped in front of a tall building and pointed to the top place
As I looked up I saw a body launch from the top
And it impacted the cement with a thudding hop

Then he disappeared from the street night scene
Making me wonder how many times he repeats this theme
As a restless spirit alone at night to wander this ground
Trapped in a repeating loop of his death going around.

© Paul Warren Poetry