at times it speaks
with the voice of a young child
gentle and quiet and
soft like rose petals
and just as beautiful
sometimes it shouts
its voice loud and furious
and hard like the wall
it tries to knock me into
it can sound sad too
its voice brittle with the breaths of ghosts
and I hear it and think
of times when I felt that way,
when I felt like I
was a ghost
tonight it is not gentle
and there are ghosts outside my window
reaching through the window casing
to touch me with their cold fingers
try as they might,
they cannot reach me
and as I watch this invisible specter
dance through the winter night
I think instead of the morning
and how beautiful the world will look
in its white dress
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Cassandra Armstrong Writing 