by: RS Jacobs
Looks just like a smudge or smoke.
I tell you, it’s a girl, though.
I mean it, guys! There’s no joke.
She is up there watching me
From her old wooden confines.
I think that the past plays host
To some kind of freaky ghost!
She was born in a dark place —
Chased by a death-pale monster
With lots of teeth in its face.
She fled; he could not find her.
One friend she had; went too far.
Then when he left, she gave up.
Now his roommate’s room plays host
To her joyous, hating ghost!
She came from a broken home —
All who lived there don’t belong.
She wrote life in many tomes,
Even if she wrote it wrong.
Though he tried to help her write,
All he did was tear the page.
Now his mobile home plays host
To her quiet, screaming ghost!
She had lived a hard-knock life —
Good was bad things in disguise.
Her mind grew fast to take strife,
And her heart strong through demise.
He dared to enter this fray
To become the friend she needs.
Will his deepest soul play host
To a third surviving ghost?
I’m warning you, my dear friends:
We should all get moving fast.
Lest we should each meet our end
And become ghosts of the past!