Ringletted Wight19:00 Aug 20 2016
Times Read: 198
This is a poem I wrote about an earthbound spirit from the Victorian era, who is perhaps an energy/psychic type vampire. One who thrives upon unhealthy attachments to those living on the earth plane, which drains the earthly-living of their vitality, strength and autonomy, perhaps ultimately resulting in a serious loss of physical and/or mental health, and that to a degree which may prove fatal. I know that there are ghosts like this in existence, who seek to live vicariously through those living on the earth, and to heavily influence earth dwellers, and perhaps even to "possess" earth dwellers, either because they are too afraid to move on to their appointed places beyond the physical experience that we call death, or, perhaps, because they are stuck in the earthbound condition, and simply do not know how to leave what to them is literally and figuratively a very dark, and empty, and dull place. I've encountered these spirits, and, although many of them are pitiful, as much victims as they are victimisers, and, sometimes they're unaware of the harm they can cause, they have been scary. This poem was inspired by some real life experiences which I had in this area. I should write about these experiences another time, but, I don't have available time for that for now, (I can smell the roast potatoes for dinner are almost cooked!)
Ringletted Wight
Oh Ringletted Wight,
I know you're somewhere out there in the night;
I've sensed you hover past my window pane;
behind those black-out curtains, felt you drain
the atmosphere of light, while you're unseen,
the raucuous wind enveloping your screams!
Oh Ringletted Wight,
the graveyard past this terraced row's your home
Since that day I saw that hearse tableaux,
And noticed your excitement, the keen glow,
of your eyes, so eager to catch mine,
I've ached to see your plight, your sad decline!
We talked that day.
So eerily you spoke, as though of now,
of your job, as mourner on display.
And yet you did half-know you weren't enfleshed.
Yet, whilst I hurt,
to see your sunken cheeks, flushed fiery red;
your waxen pallor, form so painful thin;
the hectic's froth, damp on your temples waves,
long spaniel curls, which coiled so lush and black -
so quick I caught, your half-done plans to snare,
my soul to your possession, so to keep,
your half-life fueled, banished from despair,
with light of life's blood make yourself complete!
And so this night, -
as other nights before, of storm or calm,
I've shut thick curtains tight, sat up to read,
with barriers of mind, protective charms.
But, more I hope, that next door's pretty Belle
who sleeps alone in sky-blue summer shift,
made latest forbidden; her hair bright sunny blonde,
enwaving to white sheets past peach-like cheeks; -
(one ruffled strap, down by her nubile breast),
knows the danger close to us, or wears,
her daytime's crucifix.
___________________________________
by Mysty Brett
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