A haunted page, a ghost pen.

Where imagination
and landscape
come together
one could hear
a eerie soundscape
through the rustle
of the pen.
The page is haunted,
an apparition
of a word screams
incessantly along
a dead verse.
There was a sense
of peril created
that I, given
my topography,
would haunt the page.
Pushed by a pen
I cannot see
I approach the foot
of the page where
I can only skirt
around the edges,
there I lie waiting.
Searching the lines
between mortal
and spiritual realms
I find...I am
the haunted word,
a lonely word
disconnected
from the real world...
I’ve entered
the macabre
of the supernatural.
I wrestle with the pen
before I skirt around
the edges of
the page once more.
I see a verse run
but it’s not my page.
On a blank canvas
I scream again
incessantly along
a dead verse
waiting for the
pen to return.