There is a ghost in this house
There is a ghost in this castle
It can be heard when no one opens their mouth
It can be felt when no one speaks at the dinner table
There is a haunting presence
It is felt in the blooming flowers of the printemps
It is felt in the miserable, burning été, without stop
It is felt in the splendour of l’automne
But it is especially felt in l’hiver, when you thought it was gone
It does not want vengeance
I see her sitting on the empty chair
In the kitchen, I see her fretting with her hair
I see her playing with her childern, the memory
Through the fields and streets, I feel the lingering energy
She wants justice, closure
That you will never give her
So I am haunted, in your stead
And so shall I be, to this injustice,
wed
–
This universe that exists spans the bredth of that which will make you burn
You will be taught to unlearn
I yearn for that which I must learn
And so, to God I go, sword in hand, to Carolingian graves, to make me turn
Amen