…meet from time to time

Lonely and empty I walk alone
in the ebony depths  of the great unknown
where my ghosts and I meet from time to time in a hidden place
a place where my blank pages are suddenly filled 
with chapters and verse that I have never read
 we whisper to one another as if we are connected
and a part of something of substance
but it is nothing, nothing but a mirage, a fallacy, a fantasy
for my ghosts and I, we are unaware that it is just a game
a brief interlude, a façade of bricks and mortar
built upon shifting sands
a pretence that makes no sense
an ancient ritual invoked by a higher power
the past painted anew by an unseen hand
carefully orchestrated to appear in the moment
the very moment  before the fall
before once again it all comes crashing down
my hopes destroyed, over and over
the dark cycle of mourning begins again
my heart broken and broken again
and then the book opens on page one and each chapter starts over
brief moments of Déjà vu that between each breath, feel reachable
yet they linger just out of reach, like lost butterflies 
the only relief for my ghosts and I, our shared illusions
that I buried deep  beneath the broken parts of me
safely held  in gentle custody
until the moon completes another cycle
and my ghosts and I and all that was once lost
again embrace the night
oblivious, we meet  from time to time in a hidden place
a place where my blank pages are suddenly filled 
with chapters and verse, that I have never read
© Ann Bagnall