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.
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