A Soul Unquiet
A Taphophile Poem
He was a laconic man in life,
Silent in all the ways that mattered—
In death, his stoic nature shattered.
He sees dishes? He leaves them scattered,
He finds stairs? He walks with heavy steps—
For he lingers like a witch’s hex.
Now, he cackles when one least expects,
The racket spreads chills instead of joy—
But he doesn’t do it to annoy.
He was told to shut up as a boy,
Children were best seen and never heard—
And a man emoting was absurd.
He suffers from emotion deferred,
No mortal coil to contain it—
A gushing font that will never quit.
You might spot him in a hall moonlit,
Still untangling his inner strife—
A reminder to embrace this life.