I am a ghost, haunting the edges of conversations
appearing briefly, transparent, only to disappear again.
Once in a while my words haunt someone’s mind,
keep them up at night, wondering.
I walk between worlds, between ideas, looking for the center
and the grounding of silence and interaction.
A part of everything, a part of nothing, alone floating
above the scene, or even under it.
No one passes their hand through my form,
or notices my invisible reflection when I appear in the mirror.
The sounds of laughter, of seriousness, all tastes on the tongue,
swallowed or spit out depending on need.
The parasitical mediums grab my thoughts, ask for more,
but never seek me in their trances.
My murmuring seems to lull them to a place of dreams,
causing their eyes to droop, their hearts to slow in rhythm.
I am haunted by my haunting,
wandering the wilderness of social propriety, rules and regulations.
Sound of the source, sound of the night air,
a whisper and wind, disconcerting, or to be breathed deeply.
I am a ghost to the hearts of man.
Can you hear me?