To the reader

Some thoughts, I cannot keep.

Monday, October 8, 2012

we are ghosts

what remains of us?
words float away on radio waves,
circling your heart like a school of fish.

where do we go?
we are the final trick in the magic show,
you fold into a box as softly as a dove.

and when we love,
does it live on?

beyond the now,
the echoes sound
a million hearts
are beating out

and haunting
every living lover.

who lives in us?
I know the song your soul is singing
we are ghosts of a past, remembering.

what remains of us?

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