Haunted Desires

Every night
is cast in a blood
mist.
Every night
I gaze out
and search
and search.

The church
across the street
invites my harvesting
eyes
in
and through the mist
I imagine something
there.

I sense its
presence.

A familiar voice
calling out from the haze,
inviting me with open arms
like an unfilled
grave.

I turn away
denying the very thought
of its existence.

This must be an illusion.

He should be dead.

A frightened soul
lost in another dimension,
trying to be heard,
felt.

Maybe that's me
reaching out to him,
an illusion
I want to believe
in.

Is he there?

Every night
I find myself
gazing
out into the bloody
mist
searching and searching
for him,
wondering
if his ghost will ever
come.