Anonymous

How one wishes to relish in the things of the past Because it is their voice one hears the most Like ghosts whispering soft things Your ears perceive them The unpercievable. Words are ghosts Of the people who wrote them How many poems have I seen? Written by anonymous Are they lost, or forgotten perhaps both Both ways Both worlds singing the words from the grave or in your bed “Hello dear” They whisper “How I missed you” Wrapping around your head muffling your thoughts Are you a zombie or a human Or both How we wish for the oblivion that takes those that try to run But we fear it and end up running ourselves Are you afraid of the dark? Or the oblivion you seek? And we run at the pace of zombies backwards around the world so we age faster than we can learn so we shrivel before we heal or both How much human can you take before you are not human Is the dark any better than the light if the light needs the dark to be light My ghosts say otherwise but they are too human to see any wisdom Softly Ever so lightly I crave the voices Or so we are told not to hear them But we still do Them The memories The things that haunt us made of the wisps of l o n g u n i n t e n t i o n a l h u r t How is the oblivion good when you can relish in the ghost of memories? 1/5/15