Today’s poem first appeared on the
blog in 2014.
Several people among my own
generation (and younger) have told me recently that they are very scared of growing old alone and
especially of dying alone; the latter, significantly more so since the coronavirus
pandemic. I can understand why. Those of
us living on our own cannot help worrying about what will happen if we develop
symptoms …
Me? Well, if I have no one to hold
my hand should I die with coronavirus, at least I will have my favourite
ghosts. Our kinder ghosts will always be with us, if we let them, and we need
to let them, not only for our own comfort and inspiration, but also because they
can see to it that none of us need either grow old – at least in spirit - or
die alone; no, even if we live to a ripe old age and have outlived everyone who
ever meant anything to us in our lives.
Kindness may sometimes seem in relatively
short supply these days, but there is plenty of it about. Be sure, too, there
is such a thing as the kindness of ghosts, and our kinder ghosts will never
abandon us.
As a child, I was afraid of the dark, and subsequently of dying having heard it
describes more than once as an eternal darkness. As a child, I was also afraid
of ghosts. One evening, come my bedtime, I confided both fears with my mother,
poised as she was turn off the lamp beside my bed.
She left the light on, but pointed out, "No dark, no dreams. No dreams, no
happy times coming back to haunt us like ghosts coming out to play," She
did, however leave my bedroom door ajar in case I felt unwell in the night. I
listened to her descending the stairs, feeling safe, and turned off the lamp,
eager to enjoy playing with ghosts if, well, just a little apprehensive.
Needless to say, I have never feared darkness or ghosts since.
Oh, I have my share of bad memories and unkind ghosts, just like everyone else.
Sleep, though, is as much my world as any ghost's, and I will always have the
last word in which ghosts I choose to play with; to any that would muscle in
and spoil things, I only have to call on my nocturnal playmates to help chase
them away.
SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS
I sit in a comfy armchair,
flicking through pages of a novel,
characters kind, unkind,
and none (I imagine) will come
to see me;
I stumble on a creaking stair,
look down at the hallway below,
kind ghosts waving,
but none (I imagine) likely to come
and give me a goodnight hug
I sit on the edge of my bed
flicking through a photograph album,
kind ghosts comatose,
and no-one (I imagine) coming
to hug me;
head, comforted by pillows,
surrounded by friendly shadows,
waving at me...
but none (I imagine) likely to come
and tell me a bed-time story
I snuggle under the duvet
recalling the clean smell of fresh
sheets,
a safety-net of blankets,
as I revisit the many kindnesses
lent by years of make-believe
with an invisible cloak, magic enough
in its seams to free me
from troubled times, if never
(quite) enough to come through for me
in a once-and-for-all fashion
Among the shadows, a figure
looms larger than the rest, elbows
its way
forward, arms open wide
a familiar voice wiping away my
fears
like a child’s tears;
I close my eyes, follow the Sandman
into a past-present-future
where life is a copycat Heaven,
so many cups of loving-kindness on offer
that no-one need ask or beg
As for a cruel darkness, yes, I’d be afraid
but for Peace having the last word
Copyright R. N. Taber 2011, rev. 2020
[Note: This poem has been significantly revised since it first appeared on the blog some years ago.] RNT
Labels: death, dreams, fear, ghosts, history, human nature, human spirit, imagination, inspiration, kindness, life forces, loneliness, love, memories, mind-body-spirit, personal space, poetry, posthumous consciousness, time
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