Hello Mother

©May 26th 2021, Olan L. Smith

The poet turns to ghostly realms, oft' it seems,

As he leafed through pages of haunts and screams,

A night where vivid torments sever fate

That swing from high, dripping blood upon his pate.

Haunted friends, haunted houses, and haunted flesh,

Vibrates the core of him who writes with blood afresh.

In scary places he walks the ways of heaving walls,

And he evokes his mom, her whispered calls,

"You slaughtered your sister, but I loved you to the end,

You came for me, my son, who plays the violin."