brokenmirror Poetry (2)

I will reach ye down and pull thee from the abyss
To ransom thee from his serpent's kiss
To embrace thee with an angel's wings
And look into eyes that are the jewels of kings
Matchless words -- sweet as rare yield
For you my friend, your virtue I would shield
Thine lips are as a fruit, thine breath like spring
Thine heart becomes my apprentice as I teach it to sing
I would defend thy honor, and go to arms for thee
To take thine wounds and cast them into the sea.

My family put me in an old age home
To die like an old man here all alone
They said it was because I was talking to a ghost
A strange thing I never really meant to boast
 
But she wanted my house for herself to claim
She had nowhere else to go, and didn't have a name
This ghost, she was never my guest, I was never her host
But of all the homes on my street, she loved mine the most
 
When I finally died one pretty September day
I went back to my house and told her she couldn't stay
She said, "Fine old man, we will play a game,
and every morning it will always be the same.
I will race you to the house and whoever comes in first
Gets to haunt the house for the day, to the loser be cursed."
 
So we played her game and everyday I would win
I'd stay in the house and haunt from within
The secret of my success was no secret all
While she opened the front door, I went through the wall.