BACK ALLEYS

In back alleys of the mind,

Ghosts are found in there,

They haunt through memory …

Walk hallways of despair.

Some say they see them dance,

They laugh, as if a joke,

The mind games played up there …

Are sick enough to choke.

The color black seen rein,

As if there were no yellow,

The ghosts, they run amuck …

The mind can hear them bellow.

What games I see them play,

They stir up thoughts benign,

And couch deep in the corners …

These ghosts not claimed as mine.

They run at sight of light,

Hide deeper in the mind,

In dormancy they hide …

Within subconscious mind.

Dancing to the rhythm

Of thoughts again replayed,

The ghosts laugh as they dance …

To an old-time serenade.

The alleys dark and bleak

Where lanterns are shut out –

The lights' not wanted there …

To darkness are devout.

When light is seen to spread,

The ghosts drag out old tapes,

They play them round and round …

Thoughts brined in sour grapes.

The rotten smells ignored,

The ghosts in reverie,

They play their heartless games …

On you, and yes … on me.