When we encounter haunted, scary places, I often wonder what kind of spirits lurk in the dark, whether they are good or bad, whether they will harm me. Here is a poem on that thought.
Objects to speak of there maybe many
For now, this mind dwells on one
On clanking chains and burdens heavy
Of my skipping countryside ghosts
And the ones,townsfolk deem scary.
Business of ghosts, I tell you, is morbid.
If've seen one, I'd probably run fast
But behind a desk, writing on them is what I did
Versions of ghosts, of the ones happy and sad,
Of the ones that found peace and ones with heavy hearts.
Spirits be all same lurking around in dark corners
But to who doth the heart wish joy?
Whether it be for the cold souls dragged asunder
Or the ones floating in joyous abandon
Long and hard I ponder.
Sordid tales maybe told of the crummy ones from town
With their evil glint and unhappy howls
But what of the mischievous poltergeist, beckoning to us like a funny clown
Tales of terror, nay not for those,
For in my gay countryside, whats to frown?
Let me chance upon one so gay
Or one so melancholy to cast a pall of gloom
When I too am on my way.
Bandying along with the simple village folks is what I'd choose
Turning in the grave be for those careworn that day.
With a desire for the mind made free
I'd rather be the one skipping along
Than be the nasty apparition bearing ill will,
With care and concern left behind,
Dancing about to a happy tune in my countryside.
