My Solemn Ghost

I a��m perched head long on a precipice in the direction of you, my solemn ghost,
But like calling down into a canyon, I just hear me calling back in despair,
There's no sanctifying calm, nor the whispering of hints I've needed most,
No hearing your voice calling back to me from there - or from anywhere,

Ye used to capture the cries and those wailings of your newly collected,
Those few rare elected, found within the moments of your breathing,
But now you exist without us, denying we, the directly connected,
Who are here and found hungering, like a child left teething,

O�� my solemn ghost, where doth lay the essences of your breathing?


Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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View the graphic here . . .

http://i93.photobucket.com/albums/l72/IrishTommyMoranSinnFeinIrelandtomoboy/my%20solemn%20ghost.jpg

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Viewed the graphics, erie and spooky, well done.

O' but if I had wings I would fly, to perch on the lofty perecipice, and sit right down beside you, surely a sight to behold, a gentle breeze, whispering songs of old, hints of the Irish ways. I imagine the view to be breathe taking.

You and I, Mo, on that very precipice - for sure!

tommo

tommo,
I went back to revisit the graphic. This time, I didn't find it eerie and spooky.

I felt a sadness, I saw it for what it must have been before being abandoned and neglected, but certainly in need of attention now.

Thumbs up, Mo.

tommo / Ireland