Like a ghost, I float through society..
Not quite seen… And not quite a part of anything..
A thin partition is all that separates me from inexistence… In reality, I can never be embraced… I could never plant my roots because the wind is my only anchor…
I have no backbone because I have no substance… Nothin makes sense to me.. And nothin is real to me… I embrace emotion but it goes right through me… Any semblance of reverberation is ephemeral…
I seek advice from empty people… People rooted in this world.. Who hold stake in this world… Who’s whole meaning of existence is derived from this world… From this very point in eternity.. From this exact space in time… On this very earth.. With that limited perspective…
And I’m supposed to look to them to save me…
Those people are as empty within as I am without… I’d much rather listen to the wind… I may not understand it, but at least it’s honest…and always takes me where I need to go…
It’s not so bad… Never fully seen.. Never fully heard.. Half way between here and never was…
Simply…. Floating…..
inglorious Resurrection 
I dislike critiquing poems because I never find much to critique and, for the most part, I only look at the rhytm of it(it’s just a personal thing). I like it, it is vivid and you can imagine such a ghost floating. But the end seems too contrived, it feels like it should have more to it that in has.
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I would agree… Perhaps more will come to me at a later date..
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