My Ghosts

Motionless without direction

listening for the quiet inflection

that tells me where to go

that shows me he knows...

Somehow I became alone 

drifting in the unknown

searching for the way home 

on my own.

Somehow untouchable

unreasonably unreachable

sifting through the sands of time

trapped somewhere in my own mind.

A thought slips through

a dream drifts by

as snow floats down through the cloudy sky.

My ghosts they float through my dreams

quiet and smiling

speaking of places that I have never been

and things that I have never seen.

I sleep with the doors open

always hoping

that when one shines light in the corners

nothing remains hidden

to rise out of the dark unbidden.

I long ago cleaned out my closets

of the skeletons so carefully gathered there

I made room for my ghosts

they see more than most.

When we gather

we offer them a plate

we set them a place

and these days,

sweet mother above and below,

they take up so much space.

I learned long ago

that maybe we don't want to know

what the cards hold

and it is better

just to let the future unfold.

 

People think they want to know what lies ahead

but they will not thank you

for historically we have shunned

those who see

that which we do not understand.

And so I talk to my ghosts

some new

some old

some beloved

and some better left alone.

So often we search

for that which is already within.

And as we travel through this life

we tend forget

that there is grace in death

and beauty in pain.

We forget

to dance in the rain

we refuse to acknowledge our ghosts

and say that yes,

they are our very own

each one

just another soul

looking for the way home.