Ghost Feet

A poem about the afterlife, and how being a ghost may not be so lonely...

Ghost feet on marble floor.
Ballet in the ballroom
To the heart-shaped organ,
Pipes like God’s pencils.

They live on in their footwork,
A storm of ghost feet,
Pale, white, cold.

Their laughter echoes
Like a haunted labyrinth
And every dark corner has its place,
Just like their swirling ghost feet.

They’re invisible and everlasting
But the ballroom is a safe haven,
And silence never threatens
As the heart-shaped organ plays forever on.