Lost Souls

Ghosts are everywhere we deign to gaze On newspaper pages where halcyon days Are smudged and disfigured by printing presses, The names and the faces, the last known addresses. From milk carton surfaces hauntingly stare The fresh-faced and innocent, now who knows where? On lampposts and sidings, buses and trains, Images pasted, their only remains. Pleading from parents on media shows, Their anguish and worry, fear that grows, Are they living or dead, untouched or defiled? Comes the desperate demand: “Have you seen this child?” Mythical lure of the streets paved with gold, Clichés of terrible tales to be told; Recycling paper plant rocks and rolls, The last resting place for so many lost souls.