Letters to the Lost

I must have written a thousand letters to your shadow.

The postman never caught a one;

Written by lamplight in the darkness

Each word a tear on the page, dried by the rising sun.

Falling in love with a ghost is not half so bad as they say.

Rejection is not a truth that exists

When in the grave I place my affections,

The tombstones breathe no word of my secret trysts.

Still the fieldstone lies cold and the earth so hard.

And I cry out because I cannot sleep

To dream the dream of your love,

Longing to lay beside you, buried six feet deep.

The caretaker pretends he does not hear my moaning

And rolls over in his warm bed,

Knowing there never comes true rest

For a man who is living while his soul is newly dead.