The Confessions of a Ghost

I am sitting in my body—

Soul tucked within pores,

Nestled between curves and edges,

My skin is but one drawer.

My body is sitting on a chair

Which is sitting on the floor,

Which is held up by four walls and

One small wooden door.

Those who dare open it

Will find my body sitting for

Someone to knock and peer through my eyes

And fine the Sun indoors.

I am sitting in my body,

Within my body sits my core,

Bending, folding as I wish,

I wear my skin like decor.

It carries me across the Earth,

And yet I still ignore

The field in which my golden crops

Are born. So I must implore:

I am sitting in my body,

My body hangs off the Earth

Which is but a floating rock

That to my body gave worth.

It isn’t wilde for the sense to save the soul,

For without my body, I would not be whole;

I would be a Ghost.