Sweet Ghost Valentine
An old house I am led to -it is the symbol of
memories in cobwebs - like those of old lost love.
A storehouse for so many things buried in my mind.
I open up its creaking door to see what I might find.
Lovely notes of music come wafting down its stairs.
So poignant is its melody that my poor heart tears.
It brings to me the image of one afternoon
when I walked with someone in summer by the dune.
I listen to the tickling of the ivory,
picturing two people splashing each other by the sea.
The music now is drifting to me soft and low.
I see the setting sun. We’re bathed in crimson glow.
Beautifully and slowly the notes keep being played.
In the arms of my old love rhythmically I’m swayed.
The keys of the piano now are pounding fast.
In the moonlight he and I are making love at last.
Finally the keys are played as if they were caressed,
and a bitter sweetness swells within my breast.
Slowly creeping up the stairs I go to learn the truth.
Who has played this long-time buried memory of youth?
On the old piano’s bench, I see an imprint lies,
and I think I can hear my phantom lover’s sighs.
Sweet ghost valentine, will you please return
and play again that melody of love for which I yearn?
Submitted June 26, 2022
for Mark Toney's the '2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 5' Poetry Contest
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