Midwinter marched
through the west world,
potentials forged in the hands
of agents from northern promise.
Eat their bonds,
furnish their people.
Each trinket becomes misplaced aches
in the opening of stage doors.
The show must go on!
Serving the house of those endless stars,
chilled to their core by joy.
Those secrets attend the proud
with company that spars
against the systems that hold them,
cold and relentless.
No one fears their bounty,
the description of choice
and acquitted fears.
Life became a reprint,
reduced to clear
for another breath to birth.
Can you find me now?
Here between fade and fever.
Those identical faces
parading through the torrent
of make-believe lives we each knew.
I will return
at each new moon for you.
Waiting by our flicker,
Knowing you are the life
that never anticipates our dreams.
The seams swell with sense,
concoction of my hopes.
I will return
at each new moon for you,
knowing that I
will always wait alone.
Knowing that I
will always be your ghost.

© Phen Weston 2015


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