Ghosts in the Mist

He stares out a window.  The kitchen table, a memorial to the past.  Much like Moses, the Red Sea of bills aand regret part.  Faint beams pry at the night.  Five  rays of light spread against the purple black sky.

Sullen face.  Life in the crosshairs ofor the past and future pauses.  Solitaire played with a deck of 51 cards has chewed up another night. Movements of shadows slide into greyscale.

It’s been a fortnight since the bodies returned. The mind hasn’t.  Distant cold Sun extends across fields of golden brown.  The lone sentinel forms a charcoal shadow leaning homeward. The call of a black bird pierces the silence like a dagger.

“Please excuse me, my eyes are not accustomed to this light… …..Counting flowers on the wall.  Doesn’t bother me at all.  Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo. Now don’t tell me.. I’ve got nothing to do.”  His voice reflects a song of bygone days.  

A star sparkles and fades behind the scarecrow.  He is reassuring.  A sign of belief in inanimate objects.  The slightly lopsided ssmile a child’s work .   Movable upon the wings, a curse unspoken.

The last Thirteen nights have brought about a growing Moon.  The loss of life waned before it’s beams.  Unfortunately, credit isn’t handed out in bad times.  The sentinel isn’t man’s.

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