The Soldier and His Lover

 from Lisa Kelly
 Ok so with a deep breath... Here goes nothing!
Tonight is for them,The lost and the lonely ones.Tuck in your children.
Sometimes spirits are described as echoes, a partial reflection of emotional energy, stuck in a loop and often replaying that final tragedy repeatedly for the unsuspecting to witness.
Other times spirits are described as conscious entities with unfinished business, unable to fully leave this "mortal coil." 
Reflecting on the topic, I wonder if it isn't impossible for both to be true.  That a conscious soul could be locked in a terrifying replay of their last moments.  Not a pleasant concept, is it?
I'm reminded of a story that my Granddad told me years ago.  Sitting on his knee, a thirst for spooky goings-on had been created and I cried, "Go on Granddad, tell us another one!"
And so came the story of the soldier and his lover...
My Great-Granddad's family had lived in the Liverpool city center tenements after coming over on the boats from Ireland.  Overcrowded and difficult to live in, a community spirit seemed to thrive that is much less forthright today.
My Great-Granddad, Daniel, was walking down the staircase late one afternoon.  He recalled it was unusually quiet and still until his sister came bounding up the stairs.
"Danny, a soldier's thrown his girl off the top floor balcony."
They ran together to the top to find no sign of the soldier and looking to the ground, no sign of a mangled corpse.
Afterwards Daniel discovered that his sister's description of the murderer showed his clothing to be a uniform out of commission in the British Army and it led him to investigate further.  He found that a soldier had indeed thrown his pregnant mistress from the tenements - 50 years earlier.
So now let us think of the young girl.  Let's call her Mary, for she needs a name if we are to take her close to our hearts.  A lost soul betrayed by her one true love and then through forces unknown, to suffer her final moments in confusion and torment for half a century.  This is Mary's lament.
Awaiting the arrival of my true love,I walk unnoticed, held against my will,Dreading the pain of his final shove.
The white-washed walls, now gray like a dove,Form the bars of this cage, air hushed and tranquil,Awaiting the arrival of my true love.
Here we colluded, he called me his sweet foxglove,Knowledge burdens me now, I was his weekend thrill,Dreading the pain of his final shove.
Thoughts of the life we would have soon enough,Our babe's chestnut hair, be like his father's it will.Awaiting the arrival of my true love.
And now it comes, my fall from above,His final deception, my heart's standing still,Feeling the pain of his final shove.
Again here I stand, betwixt walls gray like doves,Watching you pass, I continue my vigil.Awaiting the arrival of my true love,Dreading the pain of his final shove.