Will O’ The Wisp & Other Poems

Will O’ The Wisp

I come home and the house is dark
All the lights are on, but she’s not here.
A house’s not a home without that light.
Not comfort and not safety, just a shell,
A place, a building, a heap of bricks.

But that light was a lie.
A gaudy flash in the pan. A hoax.
The light of a camera, illuminating all
The photographs I invented in my head
Before you left me here for dead,
Showed me who I really was to you…

No one.

I’m still no one.
Even after all this time.
Just a house under a darkened sky
A house that’s not a home.
Still alive, still alone.
You’re my will o’ the wisp.

You don’t exist.


Posh accent, dirty mind,
Far too clever, far too kind,
Five foot two, hair of gold,
Always mine to have and hold.


I don’t want to write
an autobiography.

But I intend to keep making stories
for one right up until I die.

Live for stories because
live forever.

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