Not Held In Tombs
Not all those who are dead
Know how to haunt properly,
The people and places they thought
They left behind permanently.
But I was quick to learn
After I accidentally died,
How to return to the living
Interacting whenever I desired.
And at first I was troublesome
Enjoyed mostly being a pest,
Scaring people half to death
Was what I liked best.
Frequenting passages, stairwells,
Alley ways, and lonely roads.
And visiting people home alone, from
Behind shower curtains and doors.
That soon lost its attraction
When I found more interesting,
Finding old forgotten enemies
To take revenge with my meddling.
As would be expected
That almost ended in catastrophe,
When my continued interference
Caused a near deadly rivalry.
I moved on from that
To trying to make amends,
With a short list of bad breakups
And likely hurt ex girlfriends.
Visiting each one separately
Observing what I’d missed.
Leaving each with a note, a rose
And a gentle forehead kiss.
They knew it was from me
And none had felt afraid,
The forgiveness that I received
Was worth the effort made.
That wonderful feeling
I wanted to last, and decided
That if my haunting took new form
Things might be better than expected.
I began guiding my loved ones
Still alive after I had gone,
As best as I could to happiness
And away from any harm.
One night while I hovered
In my grandson’s grandson room,
I overheard him tell his mother that
“Ancestors were not held in tombs.
But they survived in and among us
Until we too became like them,
And our haunting guide the others
Into having a better experience.
This only happens to the brave
Who willingly find a way back,
Endeavoring to unmask a more
Positive and profound impact.”
I had found my reason for dying,
Leaning why I was taken suddenly,
Is that somehow the future
Required my assistance urgently.