GhostsMy bones forever grace the land, And though I walk, I do not stand. I see the sky as forever dark, When cast against it, I leave my mark.Ghosts
The echoes of my past live on, The image stays, my body is gone. The dead are ones who often cry, And you can hear me if you try.
A living aura is what I crave, I’m condemned, however, to the grave. The grass above my body is green, But with dead eyes, no color is seen.
I exist but in the corner of your eye, It’s harder to find me if you try. And as with every other ghost, I haunt the place I loved
Shadowlands
--
Have I rambled?
I'm surprised more people haven't noticed it!
--
"Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art." Wilde
--
...has been known to be Greek from time to time...
Use My Stock Photos at ~AthenaStock
Previous PageNext Page