The Tashtoo Parlour

There are ghosts here. Vaporous voices, whispering of times past.
We pretend not to notice. Go through the motions, never questioning the ache that weighs heavy on our bones.

Their bodies caress, a cold hand against a warm cheek. Our flesh shivers, we pull our sweater tighter, a smile that never warms our insides.
We know we’re dying, still we grasp for yesterday, though we know it’s never more.

We ignore and wither. Slow, painful…they warn of the bitterness that festers. Angry at our denial.

It is our own voices, singing from the past, trying to force our living hearts, to turn toward the light. To let go and let them be.

A haunted heart
Cannot be free.

Natasha Head
#poetry