Ghosts
Dusk falls.
Silent,
the black clouds
like nightmares.
The sun,
starved and dying,
a breeding ground
for the ghosts
that haunt not your house,
but your soul.
About this poem.
The ghosts that haunt our houses are mild compared to the ones we carry in our heads.
Tom
PS – The picture was taken in the quarry just across the street from my house in West Pawlet, Vermont.
Quarry House 
Gorgeous photo Tom ~ I’m glad you braved the cold for it! And it’s very appropriate for this poem …. which is food for thought.
Would like permission to borrow this to send to my Strafford Notes lit email. I used one of Krista Cox’s last week..it gets posted (for the universe and posterity ) at Authors den the next day.
Steve – of course you may. Can you give me the link where it shows up?