My Ghost

My Ghost

In my room I saw a ghost,
Standing next to my bed post,
My soul to his wholly engrossed,
My room to him a grateful host.

His body faint, almost not there,
His presence calm, demeanor fare,
No breaths he took, he need no air,
No other sight I could compare.

No malicious feel or evil intent,
What did this soul so represent?
There was in the air a probing scent,
I knew not why he was so sent.

Almost he stood there unaware
That I could sense his true despair,
“I am here,” I did declare,
His story he did start to share.

I listened with much eager ears,
To this wandering soul’s most vivid fears,
If he had eyes there would be tears,
For he’d been lost for many years.

In his place I had once been,
I would never want his lot again,
The sight I thought of who I am
This soul I could never condemn.

Strange what in him I did see,
Things I saw in him I saw in me,
Amazing how different we all look to be,
But the soul though must oft times agree.

My heart was touched, I felt his beat,
E’en though he like I was incomplete,
Grateful am I, this man I did meet,
A searching soul, so tender and sweet.

Some not knowing what is there goal,
Lost as white sheep in a field of coal,
Like my ghost who bore this heavy toll,
Just know that great is the worth of every soul.

-Jacob Winterfeldt