I dream that I am a ghost.
Without any recollection of my death,
I now live in my hometown
in an expanded version
of my father's Victorian era office.
It is somewhat of a reunion--
I live here with dozens of other ghosts like me,
many my peers,
including people with whom I grew up.
Now we are dead
and gathered here.
This night--
my "homecoming"--
we talk and mingle,
laugh and reconnect.
I meet other ghosts;
I'm given a tour
and a room that I will share.
I move by thought alone.
I understand mysteries.
My heart melts with love and benevolence.
I feel peaceful, intrigued.
But through it all,
the question begs,
"How do I let my family and friends
know I'm gone
and how close I actually am? "
I know the answer:
I never will.
This is, after all, death.
Even though those I love
live mere blocks away,
the gulf between us
(the chasm of death)
cannot be crossed
until they themselves
choose the crossing.
This mansion of ghosts
is a beautiful, old house,
large with camaraderie
and waiting...
Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.