A Ghost Story

In a rare moment of silence, oh, elusive silence.

That binds a mind to a personal violence

As the wind blows through your hair

and whispers your name

A realization that only ‘change’ remains the same

In that one defining moment we see

Ourselves with nature, as it should be.

Echoes of a listless and fading past, in chaos grasping memories of last

Crimes of passion-love and hate in self-loathing we discriminate

A ghost to march in these empty halls

And bind a heart to these ubiquitous walls.