Some people travel through life like ghosts, choosing to leave behind them no trace of their passage.
THE INVISIBLE MAN
He left behind no signet ring,
no wardrobe of old well-worn suits,
in fact, no clue that you could count
to even hint at his pursuits.
No letters, photographs, nothing;
no savings book, no bank account.
The room, where his last days were spent,
is bare, monastic, like a cell:
The mirror where his secrets hide
frames my face now but does not tell
how one can live yet leave no scent,
how life itself can be denied.