Please visit Paul Brookes’ blog for the images and the poems they inspired.

Ghost

Ghost,
the negative of ourselves,
the obverse side, a swollen tide
of fear of the dark within.

We clutch at their ephemeral shrouds,
hoping for a proof of something beyond death,
even if it is only the hollow beating of skin drums,
the clammy touch of fungus, phosphorescent glow,
an eternal pacing of the paths, the lightless lanes
where blackberries never grow
and blackbirds never sing.