Sometimes a ghost comes talks with me
Sometimes more than one, it seems a sign
Floating on a dream, they slam doors of rooms long empty
Surprised I guess to find I do not mind
You see I miss a past when we loved
Can I select that alternative today?
Points of sale with my ghosts are rigged
Revealing me, my inner thoughts come play.
Can’t see the snake in the grass
It’s wrinkled up tattoo and snaggled teeth
Disguise deceit, like milk in the fangs of an asp
Scales smooth out what they will, form a sheath
To slither silent sneaking, all we hear is hissing
A language of self leaves nothing for its mate
What they take is life and its beginning
Coiled in wait to strike your love and make it hate.
A dog wags friendship, I think we love the tale
Blinded by their smile, we smitten keep them near
We walk and walk and all the way they check the mail
Try to match us up with others of their peer
Loyal to the last, could there be a better mate?
Teaching us to love life and the lessons of the pack
Napping with an eye on whatever is it makes me late
Together we make peace with a world seems outta whack.
A cat minds its own or perhaps not even that
Granting elusive rights to satisfy their private need
Zen seems their unique design, but it’s an act
Remembered from the cradle, we call it love when they knead
Still those duties changing out their mess, the care and feeding of
These creatures of the Serengeti deign to make us pay
In spades and treats and special nips, still they hunt the dove?
In the end, they smile and maybe purr quite sure they’ll get their way.
Some monkeys, oh no not the monkeys, too many to tolerate
Everywhere they lineup signup rile up sex up, it’s true
Perfecting our own qualities, the special ways we manipulate
Talking turkey though, they conceived human evolution without a clue
Most painfully at least to us, masters of all, knowing nothing?
How is it in this scheme God made monkeys first?
Designed divinely or just Aladdin’s lamp and a brisk rubbing
Solvers from the first, this game is forced because we’re cursed.
But the ghost speaks only for its majesty
Until that day no hand to kiss, another execution
No place to rest, her ghost becomes a casualty
Disappeared like nothing into the gravity of absolution
Not even ghosts have gifts to survive the worms of time
Defended weakly by our myth of a strange abyss
The gift we make to our very selves may be just a rhyme
An emptiness that cannot be filled, imagine after all this.