The Poet Is A Ghost

When the twilight thunder echoes
In a black and ugly sky
And the dark and icy shadows
Move across your eyes
When the lightning, forked and frightening
Gives fire upon the seas
The poet is a ghost
In whom nobody believes

When the storming winds are fiercely
Battling moonlit stones
And the ageless cemetery
Vomits up her bones
And your thoughts are wandering blindly
Searching far and close
For the perfect verse which says it all
The poet is a ghost