Ghosts of the Past

the ghosts of the past haunt as slowly the clocks hands move waiting waiting waiting for this moment to become yesterdays moment waiting waiting waiting for the present to become the past but nothing changes it all remains the same the ghosts they haunt rising up from below their screams echo inside the void over and over and over the mirror shatters upon the reflections of yesterday the shards cut deep again and again and again stabbing like a murders jaggered edge knife as the wild wind blows inside the hollows a whirlwind of destruction twisting turning leaving behind victims of fate leaving behind scared wounds that only the tick tock hands can heal