Saturday, November 7, 2015

I am the ghost of my memory

They might cry for the lost
But I cry for the found
Who are never known
Still they pay 
Life's ultimate cost
Sorrow their loneliness
At the harvest
We know what we want
But are denied
We ask
We beg
Like the ghost we are 
We haunt
The lives of the happy
Of the popular
Of those who mindlessly kill
Our emotional needs
And taunt us
Without any justice
We linger
Our voices echo 
Only in memory
Like the ancient dead
Never receiving their sleep
Being made to be an exhibit
Before the eyes of the modern
We are silent, we are quiet
Even as we cry
When all we want
Is to dream 
In the arms of our maker
Who knows exactly what we need
To fly

“Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.”  Leonardo da Vinci