Grief
There are ghosts in the mortuary parking lot
Unable to invent a life for themselves
They sit and wait
In dusty, invisible vehicles
Waiting, hoping to gain some knowledge
About the spiral staircase
From souls emerging
There seems to be no other way than to wait
They don’t force it
Wild ponies tend to bolt if you run up on them
Feathers fly if you’re reach is thoughtless
And creates wind
Liquid life gushes in the vortex if your influence is careless
So they wait for it, under a broken moon
They wait for the evening to be conceived
And for the sun to originate the day
They wait for messages of learning to become life lessons
They face the wind and wait for the calm
Screaming to the air they listen with new ears
Growing their appetite for hearing wild tones of the spirit
Hunger for discerning emerges
With all their waiting they purchase visible vehicles
That restore them
They awake and wonder
Where the time has gone
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