If only you knew your affect.

On me, perhaps only me.

Did you know what happened? When you set foot as a ghost, gone and faded as much as the stickers rubbing off on an old Chevy?

I’m not sure you cared even.

I haunt your words, searching for a new spark, a new poet at work.

But nothing’s like yours, no one’s the same.

You haunt me, everytime I view a poem.

I stop seeing the words, instead my desperation.

I’m like an old dog now, still wagging my tail but slowly running after you.

Not that I’ve given up, just mortality that slows us down.

Always using words that set a dim room, and mood, vocabulary raining like what you’d describe.

Looking back on a dead man’s words,

Perhaps there was some reflection.