Easter Morning Ghost

Mm. I know it's been a while [it's always a while - my output's not particularly prolific, I'm afraid] and so this isn't of any great quality, but I hope you can find some ways to help me out. I've included a link to the voice recording, if you want to get a sense of how it's supposed to sound out loud - only if it'll help you, of course.

Thanks!

[sound clip]

Easter Morning Ghost

You see this rough and ready frame?
It's walked the world, my silent friend:
I've tasted blood and grit between my teeth
and fought the desert, had it fight me back;
I've felt the Scottish sunsets take my hand
and lived to see the sunrise bear me home,
all weak and bloodied from that other world -
the battles won, at cost, against the night.
This body has its breaks and scars:
the cold white iron of demon claws,
the fiery lines they branded in my side,
my wrists, because I would not let them win.
I've held those demons on a leash,
I've held them by the throat and felt them beg
to be released - I've held them till they died.
This is the man I am, my silent friend,
but who are you?

I sensed you laughing gently in the dark
and knew despair - not mine, but yours,
as if you'd left it far too late to scream,
had swallowed up the sound and choked it down
until it grew and grew, took root and thrived
and wrapped its clinging vines around your spine.
I hear your bitter laughter edged with hope
and cry to see that long-forgotten scream
tear free and blossom into life,
in beauty and in solace and in pain,
like Eden bursting from your troubled breast.
I dreamt you thus - but when I woke
you were a fleeting flash of green
I couldn't place: who were you, silent friend?

I face the morning old, and so alone:
the wanderer and warrior confined;
the old man's eyes within a young man's face.
I put my back against these books
and face the wall, as if my longing stare
could pierce these bricks and gloomy city streets,
could travel on these Easter eagle's wings
and rise, unfettered, to the place you wait.
Who are you, Easter morning ghost?
Your presence fled before I learned your name,
but I can say with certainty and faith -
the faith of old men dreaming dreams
and young men's visions springing into life
- that I shall see you long before we meet.
And so, despite these walls I yet remain
two parts uncertainty, but one part hope.

Hi, backgroundbob.

This is a good poem you've written here. I like the non-rhyming structure and there are some gorgeous phrases you've used. The Easter morning ghost is Christ, correct? That could be made a bit more clear. On to the poem itself:

I've felt the Scottish sunsets take my hand
and lived to see the sunrise bear me home,

I love this bit.

the battles won, at cost, against the night.

Not sure why this is in italics...

had swallowed up the sound and choked it down
until it grew and grew, took root and thrived
and wrapped its clinging vines around your spine.

Brilliant.

I hear your bitter laughter edged with hope

I'm not crazy about this line. I have a hard time hearing in my mind bitter laughter edged with hope. Maybe that's just me.

I face the morning old, and so alone:
the wanderer and warrior confined;
the old man's eyes within a young man's face.

The first two lines flow well together. As for the last line, I like the image it presents, but it disrupts the rhythm you've got. Maybe you could word it differently.

I put my back against these books
and face the wall, as if my longing stare
could pierce these bricks and gloomy city streets,
could travel on these Easter eagle's wings
and rise, unfettered, to the place you wait.

Again, a brilliant passage here.

And so, despite these walls I yet remain
two parts uncertainty, but one part hope.

I don't like your last line. It seems to jar with the rhythm of the rest of the poem, and while the rest of the poem conjured images in my mind, this doesn't at all. If you could come up with a more vivid way to end, it would improve the poem a lot.

Overall: nice job. This was really good and I liked reading it. Keep using descriptive, vivid language like you have here, and try reading your work aloud to keep the rhythm even.

Keep writing!