Whisper from the pages of Weird Tales Magazine, August 1930.
Some poems do not simply sit on the page. They follow you. They linger in the corners of darkened rooms and wait at the edges of sleep.
“Ghosts” by Jewell Bothwell Tull is one of those poems. A brief meditation on the spirits that haunt us, not always from beyond the grave, but sometimes from within our own memories and regrets.
Originally published in Weird Tales Volume 16, Number 2, this piece appeared alongside Robert E. Howard’s Solomon Kane tale “The Hills of the Dead” and works by Seabury Quinn, Edmond Hamilton, and August Derleth. It was a golden era for the magazine, and Tull’s quiet, haunting verse stood out among the pulp adventures.
GHOSTS By Jewell Bothwell Tull
'Tis said that nothing lives in the dark,
That growing things must have the light;
But I have seen the moon grow big
And beautiful at night.
And in the night my soul grows big
With doubt and hope and love and pain
That fade away with morning light,
Leaving me cold again.
The moon is made of old dead dreams,
Pale echoes of a living sun;
The moon and I are lonely ghosts
That die when dreams are done.
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