Calling Up Ghosts

Another poem for Gagauzia…

Never knew that there could be
Such specific feeling, see
Like such the blooming blossom thus
In thrust beneath the breast
When passing ‘cross lands once your own.

A squirrely pleasure, thick and rife
With honeyed warmth, and mingled spice
The only place you’ll call it up
Is sitting traveling from the start
Of that weathered journey known by heart…

But now, in thought, you might behest
It from afar in lonely state,
Or tension, shallows, sometimes hate:
To recall the places you’ve once been
When throwing off those horrid ends.

You might try to capture it, then thrive,
But there’s nothing quite like when you’re live
And fleshy, throbbing, passing sighs
In those lands you claim in lore,
The place you placed that soul of yours.

You’ll never catch it, no, you can’t!
You won’t, you shan’t, you’ll lose your sense
Of self when conjuring your past
If you force the sweetness into life
Too far from roads where it does fit.

So take, embrace it while you can
The thrumming of heart-holding earth
That you bundle in your whole, your hearth:
Grasp dearly this began-again
And remember – it, too, must reach its end.

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Published by

Haley Bader

Hey! You've made it to my site, and I'm thrilled to introduce myself... my name is Haley, a writer and artist with a passion for adventure, volunteering, cooking and generally tossing myself into some sorts of shenanigans. I hope you enjoy what you find!

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