Ghosts Passing Through
A poem
A poem
Shadows of darkness
have me in chains.
With cold of night
comes shadows’ pall.
At dawn,
the winds of mourning call,
to pay the price
for ecstasy.
Like a cloak,
you wear me
with great sadness,
as strands
of fond remembrances unwind,
and each memory comes calling;
like deep orange haze
in a warm place.
I never knew the comfort
of a place where I belonged.
Unspoken rage
in every empty life left behind.
You cannot see me,
but you can feel me.
I am the wind,
breezing gently
through your hair.