On The Tip of Your Tongue

On The Tip of Your Tongue

the ghost on the tip of your tongue
how you were here, then gone
the curtain call that never came
a trophy for coming first
but this is no game
the wind in the walls
loneliness beckons but never calls
the ghost on the front lawn
coming around to eleven o clock
contemplating why you were born
though your features are defined
you are not easily drawn
only to the pleasures of your mind
the ghost on the tip of your tongue
its word almost ready
but in reality, word already gone
no time to kiss them goodbye
only time to watch them move on
and count the clouds rolling across the sky
the ghost that never really comes
for it is far too shy, to reveal its reason why




James Garratt – Saturday 21st February 1998