A Poem for the Hungry Ghosts
I won't wear red to draw attention,
sing or whistle my favourite melody.
I won't linger near the shadowed walls
to stir or fret the hungry ghosts,
unrested souls trying to recall a life
without fear or violence or tragic luck.
Their whispers are all sighs and envy
as I walk home in open lamplight.
Zhongyuanjie 2016
© 2016 Rob Schackne
© 2016 Rob Schackne
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