Rustic Pardoning


From the, getting gone, polyester blanket…of another’s memories.

An apparition approached with no words to spare.

A vacant troth with not a single pitcher to fill her.

In the restraint of ghostly disarray.

A mongrel for written word…

I had nothing to say.

So much had been our way of caring without sharing.

A home-built for show.

Rustic pardoning of stain and cedar.

Secluded, even when wrapped in Christmas garland.

Innocence, here…had been given no pardon.

I could not then.

And, cannot still.

Contend with a ghost so frail.

Caught up in the pinnacles of life, I am but a mistaken void.

A template for those who neglect…

Or, simply, annoyed.

A fragrant weed behind a nameless graveyard.

Someone ghosts can yield and avoid.

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