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North American Dreaming: I, The Grey Mist

William Burkholder's poem tells of a ghostly agony.

Do please visit Bill's Web site http://www.freewebs.com/nirvanasgate/index.htm

This bridge is my barrier
That I cannot seem to cross
My regret for foolishness
My ultimate untimely loss

Lamp lit window
Beckons through twilight haze
To glimpses of happiness
And wonderful loving days

Flowers blooming
Along the garden wall
Knighting gale's voice
And her silken call

Flowing water running
Night air getting crisper
Runnels voice calling
Hearing just faint whispers

Of families joyous laughter
Just the other side of this bridge
Where once I walked
In revelry of this
Earthen shore

Now I am the haze
The twilight of the evening
Misty night smoke rising
Chained in memory

Unable to leave
Business undone
To once again embrace
That woman, my daughter, my son

I am now the grey mist
Set to wander the wind
Never to light
On hearth and home again

The wind rises
And I am but a wisp


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