Ghosts
The memories of my past
stalk me
like so many ghosts.
I try to shake them
within the warren of my mind,
but they are a persistent lot
and will not leave me in peace.
All too many wear your face
or the faces of those
I’d rather forget.
I’ve buried you deep
within the chambers of my heart,
yet in this catacomb
for the ghosts of my past
your memory lives on.
Day after day,
brick after brick,
I’ve reinforced the walls
of your tomb.
Neither time or distance
has managed to exorcise
your presence,
and still you haunt me
day after day.
I often wonder:
am I a ghost for you as well?
Does the memory of me
arise as if summoned
in moments of levity and sadness,
unannounced?
What will it take
to lay our ghosts to rest?
Will we one day lie side by side,
two souls at peace, yet ghosts no more?
