i woke again this morning to see
that child just outside my window
she stands there and at the stroke of three
she walks off slowly into the dark
i lay my head upon my pillow
hoping that the young girl simply larks
i just cannot help but wonder though
is she out for something more than fun
as the sunrise now begins to start
i plot and plan for that time she comes
perhaps she passes by to the park
it is just a block straight down the road
i wait so patiently for the one
who haunts my fragile dream episodes
in the silence i hear the chilled hum
of the young girl i am frightened by
in the street for this girl i did bode
seconds later i had caught her eye
she smiled in such a somber mode
and vanished leaving me in the cold
as i stand there, my mouth feeling dry
this ghostly girl who was not very old
then it hit me; i began to cry
i knew now who this girl was to be
this story to you i have just told
will help you to understand maybe
the apparition that was so bold
was of me when i died years ago
Early poetry from James. From the poetry collection Pariah Bound: The Lonesome Poetry.
James Pack 