Ghosts do not always come from death,
walk this earth under their own breath,
on quiet edges, one can never know
when they will hide, when they will show.
Spectral spouses that forever flit
not quite an ex, but short of obit,
they never call, or visit made,
refuse to leave their fantasy shade,
no card for kids, even one present,
what about them do they so resent?
Even invisible, they cause much pain,
absent, but still tied with eerie chain,
How can one live with this sad force?
Perhaps it is time for that divorce.