His Spirit Still Lingers

In the shadow of the night
His footsteps can be heard
they echo on beyond his sight
but his lips release no words.

A wisp of smoke, a cloud of dust
the movement of a glass
Endless is his search for trust
forever will it last.

He watches them from closet doors
those souls that take his space
those that walk his hallowed floors
then leave without a trace.

He follows them on through the halls
He sees the things they do
and loathes their life, their Mortal walls
hoping they see him too.

Years pass, and things move on
His prison walls unforgiving
looking for proof that he�s not gone
for a reason to forget he�s not living.

Reviews

[justjenn_2u]

To trust someone or something else, one must first trust himself. I feel as if this poem is speaking of a spirit that can't be seen or heard. This poem held my attention from beginning to end.