Ghost Writing

The bedside journal fills
With phrases not my own
Jotted in hasty lucid moments
When another life donned

The dawn reveals phrases
Hard to decipher words
The hand of another plays
Rhymes I have barely heard

A nocturnal gift received
From where do they come?
I truly will not ever know
Maybe borrowed, I will never know

Stoic Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s