Sometimes, when the air is warm,
And fermentation drowns the dawn,
Whispers float from rooms above,
Sing echos of your sleepy love.
Sometimes, when the air is warm, And fermentation drowns the dawn, Whispers float from rooms above, Sing echos of your sleepy love. |
Author's Comments
Who says ghosts don't exist?
Please note, if you read this yesterday it said "sickly love" rather than "sleepy love". I'd posted the old version. Duh, Bec. |
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Comments
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Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes
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~All in all you're just another brick in the wall~
I love it. especially 'and fermentation drowns the dawn' (and to think I just quoted a quarter of the poem!). but the rest also. My new manuscript draws upon ghosts a lot - not literal so much. Ghosts stand out to me for their symbolism - psychological ghosts if you will. though some days I think I, shall we say unexplained presences?
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My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out! The doctors found out that Bunbury could not live, that is what I mean - so Bunbury died
This isn't about literal ghosts, but also the ghostly memories that remain when people leave us, not necessarily through death. I wanted it to be a happy thing. Well, perhaps not happy as such, just not sad.
I look forward to your 'Ghost' title when you write something you like to go below it! Also thank you for the little yellow star
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~All in all you're just another brick in the wall~
Literal ghosts are kind of finite, so it's more fun to play around with the ideas they present
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My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out! The doctors found out that Bunbury could not live, that is what I mean - so Bunbury died
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~All in all you're just another brick in the wall~
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