The Ghost.

By Richard Jones

.

I live in a house with no windows.

A black curtain hangs on my door.

The voices of conscience torment me.

I live in a room with no floor.

.

There’s dirt in the corner I can’t see.

There’s water that runs down the wall.

There’re mice in the attic above me,

And rats playing games in the hall.

.

I live in a house with no windows

And sleep in a room with no heat.

The darkness of life that surrounds me

Keeps out the sounds of the street.

.

I wake when the shadows have fallen

And walk when the memories cease.

When purpose in life has no meaning

And only the wicked find peace.

.

Yet I am a smiling failure

I live in the dark of your mind.

I’ve done what I’m proud to admit to

And lived with the fear of the blind.

.

Mine is the shadow you're seeing

I'm trapped in this house that's now yours

It’s my voice you think that you’re hearing,

for I died in a room with no doors.