Memory Of A Ghost

They said the only way
To make money writing poems
Is to sing them
So I picked up my guitar
And hummed a tune

I tried to write some words down
But each time I tried
All I could think about
Was you

I don’t recall the first time I saw you
Or the first time we met
But I know you had me
From the beginning

There was drama
There was desire
There were all the makings
Of a good play
But this wasn’t theatre
This was real life

I thought about you every day
Couldn’t stop if I tried
And even now you haunt me
When I pick up the pen to write