A Double Ghostly Poem The Ghost 1
In a dusty room where shadows creep,
A mirror stands silent, secrets to keep.
A man trapped inside, with nowhere to go,
Inside the cold glass, without a single glow.
“Let me out!” he cries, pounding the pane,
But the mirror holds tight, prolonging his pain.
Once full of laughter, now empty and bare,
A ghost in his prison, lost in despair.
“Who am I now?” he echoes in fright,
With no paths to wander, no end in sight.
Reaching for freedom, but feeling the weight,
Of dreams that have faded, a cruel twist of fate.
The darkness surrounds him, it fills him with dread,
A man lost and hollow, a ghost of the dead.
He longs for the sunlight, for life to resume,
But the glass keeps him trapped in this endless gloom.
So he lingers in silence, his voice full of woe,
A prisoner of echoes, with nowhere to go.
The man in the mirror, forever confined,
A spirit lost quietly, trapped in his mind.
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The Hidden Within The Lady 2
She looks in the mirror, sure she’s seen a man there,
She sees him every night as she brushes her hair.
One glimpse and he’s gone; is it real or her mind playing tricks?
The mirror, a gift from a second-hand store.
Something is hidden inside; she can’t open the door.
What secrets lie hidden behind that cold glass?
A past intertwined with shadows that pass.
Each night she wonders, her heart filled with dread.
Are the whispers of mystery alive in her head?
Is he a reflection of dreams left behind?
A ghost of lost memories, forever entwined.
With each fleeting glance, her heart skips a beat.
In this maze of uncertainty, where echoes repeat.
The man in the mirror, a figure of night,
Calls out to her softly but fades out of sight.
She reaches for answers, though the truth feels unclear.
In the depths of the mirror, the answers draw near.
So she gazes with hope, and she leans in a bit,
Determined to find what lies deep in the grit.
For the mirror holds more than just surface and skin,
A journey awaits if she dares to begin.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (2)
A hauntingly beautiful poem! The mirrored souls, eerie mystery, and emotional depth make it truly captivating. Loved the dual perspectives—chilling yet poetic! 👻🪞✨
To me these two poems are kind of intriguing and yes kind of freaky too.