Shadow People


When the sun resigns to slumber
we will meet again
gathering as a Sunday morning funeral.
Start a journey of old spirits-
falling heads.

Gliding against the walls and ceiling
as they vacillate between the
3rd and 4th dimensions-
I see reverberations.

Last night the chamber was full-
barely enough room for me and
someone knocked on the door this time.

A lonely heart arrived too late
both hands press the window in pain
eyes straining to behold
a work of God behind cold mirrors
before dissolving in harrowing deliquescence-
as if I could save the human soul.

-Jesse Haydn

Published by Jesse Haydn Poetry

The written word is life. I am the proverbial poet-at-heart.

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