Lonely Ghosts

 ...And dying still

Did wonder most,

Why remembered less;

And amnesic ghost-

Was the last wish,

That one could post,

Before the living raised,

Their loving toast.

To send one's way,

On the far-ish coast,

Where none do come,

And never hope.

For dreams are made,

Enroute  en-course,

And to eternal last,

Is one so forced.

For days shall pass,

In waking hoarse,

And insomnic eyes,

Won't ever close.

For deadmen too,

Do have some woe,

But formless beings,

Dont get to show-

How raging hearts,

Clutch memory's ghosts,

And a waiting game,

Is what kills us most...

*The Daily Fret, Stanza 3