One Day

The sun moves on and the sky disappears.
Ghosts have lived today,
And found solace in their resting place.
I don’t have this luxury.
For every day’s past
There is little to show
But this pattern in the wall
That has a lot to say
And shit for meaning.
It’s all on the ceiling.
This play in the dark
Is perpetual rite
Meant to keep the ghosts at bay
For Just. One. Day.

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Filed under poem, poetry

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