Ghost Immortal

“I cannot save you anymore.”
he shut his eyes, I closed the door,
“I cannot watch you drift away,”
she stepped out into the newlit day.
“We cannot live to live to die.”
“We cannot accept the wondering

“I cannot breath, my feet are cold.”
“I cannot remember, I’m getting old.”
“What’d you say? I couldn’t hear.”
“What else do I have to fear?”

He came home with a boy in his arms,
limp and draped, wrists deeply scarred,
he looked up, haunted, and knelt in the hall,
“I think you better make the call.”

We buried Michael, we said goodbye,
we never asked him why he chose to die.
But daddy loves you, and mommy cries,
your sister misses you and though she tries,
the scars are showing where she follows you
and we can’t help her, it’s sad but true.

“I cannot save you anymore.”
Those were the words carved on the floor.
You moved your bed to leave that prayer,
like a mark of where the monster had his lair.

Your family wonders, your family dreams,
we hear your voice and wake in screams,
we couldn’t help you,
even though we knew.

The night is old now, like you’ll never be,
the mind creates you, ghost of immortality…
I hear the sound of a shutting door,
then the creak of the upstairs floor,
and a shudder chills me to my core,
I’m running, charging up the stairs,
and some ghost blows upon my hair,
I hear the shot and then nothing more.
“I cannot save you anymore.”