She sings in silence,
Note by note.
Mute melodics,
Soaring free.
In time, perhaps
She’ll find her voice
And sing her song to me.
She can’t remember
Her own voice.
Perhaps she hears it
In her head.
In time, perhaps
She’ll find a way
To bring it out instead.
She sings in silence,
Lacking words.
Her music playing
With no rest.
In time, perhaps
She’ll end the song;
It may be for the best.
So, all the ghosts line up to sing the song
And I am swayed by their determined tune.
I know their thoughts are only shades of mine,
Undone too soon.
They step so lightly they might not be there
But for the cold that takes the place of breath.
Unseeing eyes have served no use at all
Since meeting death.
The soul can find what perfect sight cannot
But fails to hold it so it slips away.
Why ghosts demand a chance to hunt it down
I cannot say.
In life we dance between the broken lines
Of waking life and silent, dreaming pain.
To seek the hidden place where these two meet
Is less than sane.
But sanity is not a treasure dear
When holding it must block the chance of sight.
The ghosts regret the follies that they shunned
To keep the light.
So all the ghosts line up to sing the song
My voice rings out although my lips are still.
I hope this tune will be the last they chant.
I doubt it will.
ogginblog 