Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

In the sky there hangs a white crescent moon, It shines bright on the big city below. I'm all alone, but I won't be soon, The ghost in the night, she comes and she goes. I hear her in the kitchen brewing tea, And then she comes to my bedside and stares. I feel her dark eyes piercing straight through me, In the dark, her face is ghastly and pale. She's haunting me yet I do not feel scared, There's something familiar about her stance. I'd reach out and talk to her if I dared, I'd ask her out for a midnight slow dance. The ghost lady is my past self, you see, It's me being terrified of what I can be.

My husband stole milk from the neighbour's farm, He told me that I ask him for too much. I told him that I'd cause him raw harm, Now he retracts at the threat of my touch. My husband didn't come home for the night, He left the milk on the doorstep to rot. He and his pals went to grab a quick bite, Between smokes and beer chugs he forgot. This morning we ate dry cereal and bran, Because my husband is a lazy old man.