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literature
The People We Might Have Been
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Literature Text
The people we might have been
Are the ghosts who haunt our sleep,
Who bring us jolting awake in our sweat-darkened sheets.
They stand around our beds
And reach out to steal some of our life.
They have hollow eyes,
So empty of life and experience
That they can't even accuse us,
And if they open their thin, lipless mouths,
They have no tongue or voice with which to howl
But only a greedy, gaping darkness
That yearns to suck down all our memory and dream
To fill out their own wasted frames,
To make our thoughts move under their skin like muscle,
And our old passions stir and flutter like their heartbeat.
They want something from us -
They want everything from us -
They want to be us -
We fumble for the light, wide-eyed
And shrinking back against our pillows,
Night-blind -
Suddenly glare-blind,
We never see them flee,
But we hear them dryly slithering,
Crowding into the shadows with spiteful, cheated hisses,
Slipping back behind the bookcase, into the closet,
Under the bed,
Where they scrabble, and mutter, and wait
For the closing of our eyes,
For the slowing of our breath,
For another chance to live.
12.42 am
Are the ghosts who haunt our sleep,
Who bring us jolting awake in our sweat-darkened sheets.
They stand around our beds
And reach out to steal some of our life.
They have hollow eyes,
So empty of life and experience
That they can't even accuse us,
And if they open their thin, lipless mouths,
They have no tongue or voice with which to howl
But only a greedy, gaping darkness
That yearns to suck down all our memory and dream
To fill out their own wasted frames,
To make our thoughts move under their skin like muscle,
And our old passions stir and flutter like their heartbeat.
They want something from us -
They want everything from us -
They want to be us -
We fumble for the light, wide-eyed
And shrinking back against our pillows,
Night-blind -
Suddenly glare-blind,
We never see them flee,
But we hear them dryly slithering,
Crowding into the shadows with spiteful, cheated hisses,
Slipping back behind the bookcase, into the closet,
Under the bed,
Where they scrabble, and mutter, and wait
For the closing of our eyes,
For the slowing of our breath,
For another chance to live.
12.42 am
For every path not taken, every "what if I had only ... ", every decision of every moment ... there is another self living out a shadowed half-life ...
Comments7
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Overall Vision Originality
Technique Impactthis poem is really something. from the first line i was sucked in. your path is clear but your goal is not. which creates a sense of discovery at the end. we can accept the overwhelming sense these creatures exist and that they haunt us. but you have revealed there never ending presence. i think your vision was really astounding. i find when i am tackling such profound and insightful topics it is sometimes difficult to remain focused on the message and mood of the poem. you have shown no such difficulty. this piece is fluid and elegant in its journey to describe this ghost. you have revealed something about us all. i look forward to more work.