Well Donne, Spirits In the Night
by Michael Doyle

To Donne’s feigned scorn the murderer was dead
Only to reappear as an apparition inside his head
All the spiritualism to be had inside one’s bed
From the nightmares and seances, and things said

The black cat looks on somehow very quizzical
Puzzled by the clairvoyance clinging metaphysical
Beliefs in the ghostly and ghastly ghosts of the past
In a cat’s meow it dismisses things that do not last

With all the due that is due that which is but neglect
The seekers of truth offer up their sense of respect
To the haunted houses that have lived and died
And all the homely groans believed those who have died

The feet shuffling and chains are impossible to ignore
Yet scarier still is the floating table up from the floor
Passages and impressions fill the dank, dark air
All of this in passing as if some kind of fantasy faire

There are more wandering guests than there are hosts
All wishing as they will for what they wish for the most
To be part of those who are being invisible yet seen
I suppose that is the wish for all human beings?

Somewhere and somehow with that bridge of light
We hope beyond hope to connect with spirits in the night
Our sorrows beg questions for answers we seek
Hoping against hope for maybe just another peek

(c) May 3, 2022 Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved