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The ghost of the past celebrated

By Colleen Millsteed Published 8 months ago 1 min read
Image courtesy of Pixabay

The love once held within the bosom of an innocent heart,

Hoarded with memories arisen from joy,

The precious first glance of a sweet handsome face,

When this girl gave her heart to a boy.


Stirrings of need cascade upon her shoulders,

Worn as a glorious cape of sacrifice and care,

A single touch of the exquisite future possibilities,

Protected within a cocoon of a lifetime affair.


But the promises died a slow tortured death,

Broken apart by destruction and a lack of fight,

An ego of growth that harmed their essence,

Until goodbye was all that could make it right.


The after effect of a dead romance,

Laid bare inside a polished coffin of finality,

A stipulation of feelings laid beside the resulting tears,

Buried deep within two shattered hearts in reality.


Flowers dropped upon the essence of what once was,

Maturity enveloping the wisdom at last,

Bygones are the rhythm of acceptance,

Letting go of the ghosts of the past.


As the body of the lost is lowered to its final rest,

A sense of letting go an absolute relief,

Closure received after a lifetime of regrets,

And a cleansing immensity rides past the grief.


There’ll always be the memories of a life once lived,

Remembered fondly without the crushing pain,

Wisdom allowing the burying of wants and dreams,

Knowing a death is necessary to begin to live again.

Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.

Please visit my website if you'd like more information on my newly published book, Battle Angel : The Ultimate She Warrior.

Originally published on Medium

love poemsinspirational

About the Creator

Colleen Millsteed

My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.

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Comments (6)

  • wendy bidmead 8 months ago

    Love it Sis 💕💕

  • And this phoenix, too, shall rise again.

  • Knowing death is necessary to begin life again. That line was sooooo deep! And so true! Loved your poem my friend!

  • Cathy holmes8 months ago

    Wonderful piece. Well done, as always

  • Babs Iverson8 months ago

    Colleen, loved your inspirational eulogy!!!

  • Hannah Moore8 months ago

    I really like the way you hold the putting aside of past things to pick up the new.

Colleen Millsteed Written by Colleen Millsteed

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