Ghosting

Sometimes I feel I'm ghosting in this world
a vagrant memory of battles lost-
a triviality like a tea light flame
evanescing inside a beautifully adorned pot.

I shined so brightly in that moment I burned
and I was connected once to the people I knew
and now like a rainy, foggy day,
I search through the mists of purgatory.

My best friends are words on a screen
a recognizable emotion in a name:
Glenn means wisdom, Alex means fun,
Sasha means someone when there is no one-

but most of the rest, as much as I enjoy them
belong to the category of wisps in the wind.
a foot hold on a cliff of insurmountable odds
and I don't even recognize myself, "who's Rens?"

I've got no mobility and nowhere I can get to
I live on an island that I call home-
and sometimes I have a companion
and sometimes I'm alone-

but even my Tonto has connections and friends
and family and people who appreciate her-
why do I exist here, who is this ghost I fear
every time that I look in the mirror.

A beautiful lie

My dearest little boy
Fret naught as you shut your eyes
for wonders await you in dream land
as this day dies.

For there are millions and billions of kids
beyond the veil of the darkness of your room
so sleep my sweet little child and soon
you will be in the dreamland of the children of the world.

There are playgrounds and jungle gyms like you wouldn't believe
so fantastic that I assure you, not even daddy could perceive
of what fun you will have in your beautiful dream
but to get there, don't be late: and he drifts off to sleep.