The Great Obsession of the Hotel Ghost

author's note:

I’m not a ghost…but I have been mistaken for one.


THE GREAT OBSESSION OF THE HOTEL GHOST

Our tour guide says:
the woman walks the same path
night after lonely night--
sometimes, guests
can hear her soft steps
on the hallway carpet
just outside their door.

A forlorn lady, yes--but
I see her fixation as positive:
I believe some ghosts relive
the same tragedy relentlessly
because
they’re trying to see
a higher reason--
they ask:
can a life that seems so damned
have a grand plan?--
they want the wisdom
that will set them free.

Maybe at first
the ghost expects this wisdom to come
in a sudden blazing beam of light from above

but in time, realizes
the light must slowly be raised
from depths within.

Then, as she delves down
maybe she’ll find a design
of cause and effect
but based on my own experience
I’d guess:
intellectual insight
won’t be enough to free her--
no

she needs to delve until she feels
the truth of what
she’d always been taught:
“all is as it should be”--

what I’ve sometimes felt
in a sudden moment--
a moment too soon gone
because
I’m still too dim to hold on to
that great sense of perfection.

However, I believe
if we keep delving and lifting
eventually that sense
will remain with us
then we’ll finally shed
our old dark chains.

But as the tour guide says:
though ghosts will abandon their haunts
they do so only gradually--
slowly fading over years--
decades.

Yes, decades--but
I can see how
with each delve, I lift
just a bit more light
than on the previous night.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook

The Wounded Beast

author's note:

My small contribution to world peace.


THE WOUNDED BEAST

While fumbling blindly in the cloud
of another storm I’d stirred up…

my hand touched the tough hide
of a growling beast.

Fortunately, I’d already read:
if you run from the wild unknown
you’ll be bitten.
So instead I stayed
and tried to calm the creature
with empathic fingertips

(----)

then
as the rumbling quieted
I began to detect
a sob of loss buried beneath
the thick epidermis

so, my caring deepened--

below the grief, I could feel
the groans of many wounds.

I then realized the obvious:
my healing would require
more effort than I’d hoped--

the light simple process
described in that happy book
would not suffice.

Fortunately
I already understood:
to surrender would be
to surrender my life.

Now, years later, I can see
my work as doctor and nurse
will never be complete.

Such slow tedious progress!
But I do feel better
and besides
I find meaning in this job.
So why stop?

But ah!--
knowing the pain
of dealing with pain
I can’t really blame
those who shirk the chore.

Nonetheless, I may still become upset
when I hear some of them mock
those who do choose to do
exploratory surgery
on the inner self--

their obtuse arrogance echoes
the bullhorn that long ago
blasted me to silence

and so, by reflex
I may begin to rage within--
rage until
I’ve dimmed myself
in another storm cloud.

But then
as I try to find my light
sometimes I remember
to reach down with
empathic fingertips
and work to heal
the wounded beast.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook