The ghost

‘tis the ghost of times long past
that haunts this present human state
and flits like thoughts and feelings
within and round about
the all and everything of life.

I know it’s here when I am here
and there when I am there
and I would shake, rattle, and roll
this attachment from my life
if I were a one to be
unmindful of that state of grace.

And in that state love hovers so
within or on the outskirts of
my experiences
and though I seek the knife, scalpel,
that cuts through energy
I find that none exists.

There is no mortal man-made tool
that severs who I am from you
but ‘tis the “I” of transience
that seeks to touch again the face
of love’s now earthly form.

And so I touch when I am here
to find again the same as there
but ‘tis known in circles of the wise
that ghosts are ghosts, times past are past,
and the haunted remain haunted
until, until, until …
well, until I am detached.