Mysterious Ways

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

I often refer to ghosts in my poems. Do I believe in ghosts? Oh, yes, I certainly do.  Here, though, the ghost is simply a metaphor in the manner of many poets, writers, and artists before me and I dare say many more to come…

A metaphor, for what, did you say? Ah, therein lies the secret of the kenning form of poetry; you usually have to read it to discover the narrator’s true identity.

MYSTERIOUS WAYS

I am the ghosts

of seasons taking their cue

from all around me,

busy recreating roles to play

that I dare step back into

once choice comes into its own

while (still) denying access 
to any 'live' past-present-future

offering to make peace

I am the ghosts

of seasons taking their cue

from a restless heart,

invading the enquiring mind,

seeking to be reconciled

with whatever moral order

loath to acknowledge

no (conscious) harm ever done 
in agreeing to differ

I am the ghosts
of every season's fretting

about fulfilling

its potential, whether physical,

psychological, emotional

or, yes, sexual, since you ask 

(and well you might)

given that we're both working out
a full life sentence

I am Conscience, human nature's diary,
the sum total of its eternal mystery

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011