Wounds of death

A ghost imprisoned in my chest

chained to walls of memories

Guilt's shackle's disturb my rest

garroted haunting reveries

Dark shadows color stone

with blackness of words never said

Acrid reverberations groan

dripping echoes, wounds of the dead

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

We forgive the trespasses of others easily when gray death has wrapped them in funeral arms but can we, as easily, forgive ourselves for unresolved trespasses against them? Or do the ghosts of our transgressions rattle out the chains on pensive and sleepless nights? Great writing, my friend. I enjoyed. F.

[Soren]

Fabian you grasp quickly the essence of these pieces, to some obscure to you they seem transparent. I truly appreciate your read and intuitive comments.