Haunted By The Darkness

The child in me is haunted
by the darkness at the top of the stairs.
The adolescent in me is haunted
by the darkness of my own mind.
The adult in me is haunted
by the ghosts of day:

The solid, fleshly spectres
who stalk this house. Not living;
merely self perpetuating. Receptacles
of the past. Dreams held captive
in blurred and distorted bodies.
Fading into the future...

There, in the cupboard,
is an album of photographs.
There, on top of the wardrobe,
is a small box containing wedding cake decorations.
There, forgotten in a drawer,
is a videotape of a child's birthday party.

All these things - and so many others -
exist only to confirm each other's existence.
The mirror image reflects the reality,
which in turn casts its own image.
The ghost in me is haunted
by all things. By life itself.