Ghosts of the past can haunt the future.
Remembrance of wrongs . . . is the ruin of virtues, the poison of the soul, a nail piercing the soul.
—“On Malice,” The Ladder of Divine Ascent. John Climacus.
This dark figure breaks in, sneers—
ransacks my house day and night,
however swept and tidy.
After every prayer for the Holy One
to evict this dark figure, it returns with seven nails
and pounds and pounds and pounds . . .
no barbed wire fences obsession and possession.
A spirit passed before my face;
The hair on my flesh stood up, Job 4:15 tells me.
Next week Dread revisits, veiled behind his flesh,
no escape. . .
How long? How long? How long?