Poem – Forgotten

Echoes of unspoken words

Shadows of an unseen figure

A mortuary hidden in the attic

A realm of liminality;

Neither here nor gone.

She no longer walks, but glides

Is no longer seen, but sees;

A presence mistaken for a chill.

Hollow and lacking in colour.

You call her a ghost.

She calls you a ruse.

She simply longs to be forgotten.

© Shyla Fairfax-Owen