The pale ones

The pale ones
A shrouded moon, glows in clouds that flit
the crow upon the headstone sits
steps that see no imprint left
the oneself, not quite departed yet

The ship that sadly drifts alone
driven just by spirit winds
the fading credits of a film
a melody without a tune, the echoed will postponed

Uncertain flickering of quick
grey charcoal sketch, that walks as life
a vision conjured from the cloak
the abracadabra of mishaps, in flight

cold breeze of disembodiment
transient door, between, not quite closed
are they apparitions of ourselves?
manifestations of our discontent

of core and substance rent