Strange days are turning.
Rough deeds beget dust, no more,
Haunted by my past
Rough ghosts assail me
Strange fruits turn to dust and ash
Clogging in my maw
It’s the ghost of her.
Dust turning in eve’s strange light
Rough-forms her image
Written for secret keeper’s weekly poem prompt, using – ghost rough dust strange turn. http://thesecretkeeper.net/2015/12/14/weekly-writing-prompt-15/