Across The Void (Poetry)

I know I’ll be a restless ghost
condemned to mooch and moan
I’ll find some poor poetic host
and not leave them alone.

I’ll haunt them — drive them nearly mad
repeating scraps of rhyme
smothering all the thoughts they had
on how to spend their time.

I’ll chivvy, nudge and so provoke
them into writing down
whispers — like some Muse has spoke
the words my mind has sown.

The slave to every passing thought
I plant and water well
they’ll blossom wild with fancies caught
and bunched like blooms to sell.

I’ll urge them, worry line by line
work late into the night
inspire them — goad them ’til they whine
or set the page alight.

They’ll know my passion and my pain
albeit second hand
and through them I will write again —
unleash whole volumes planned.

Across the void those ideas come —
so no apology
for after all it’s just what some
dead poet’s done to me.