The Ghost Pass by Jonathan Douglas Dowdle

The Ghost Pass
The ghosts pass, and say nothing;
They pretend to be alive, but breathe
Nothing; their laughter is an echo of
An old, infirm sorrow, returning;
They glance their eyes like ships
Trying to touch the sea of tomorrow.
Still; there is no ship that acts like hand;
There is no sea, like spine, beneath its touch;
They are staring at the dreams of eternity;
They are watching the sky split open and
The stars fall to the earth;
They are already crawling back into the earth.
All that remains on board is blood, is wine;
All that cuts through the currents, is a whisper;
A voice, soft and sharp like a knife;
Parts the thought like a cloud and lets it give way;
The sky is open, like a mouth, waiting;
The only vision remaining, is a man of board;
Sipping his drink.
Jonathan Douglas Dowdle
Jonathan Douglas Dowdle was born in Nashua, NH and has traveled throughout the US, he currently resides in South Carolina. Previous works have appeared or are appearing in: Hobo Camp Review, 322 Review, The Opiate, The Right Place At The Write Time, Blue Hour Review, Whimperbang, After The pause, Midnight Lane Boutique, Visitant, Adelaide, Blue Moon, Bitchin’ Kitsch And The Big Windows Review.

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