by Milton Johanides

Created on: August 03, 2010

And the ghosts of the past continue to march past my bleary eyes,

Individually taking a spear to my heart with their looks of misunderstanding, their stares of condemnation.

Is it me or is it them, but there is a lack of communication  

And if they could speak to me or I to them across the decades that have left us like passengers bereft on a platform

There would be no need to explain. 

I am sorry, I was lost.

And the ghosts of the past smile as they see to the heart within, bypassing the hard crust of my exterior. 

He was lost, he knew not what he did.

Forgive us, ghosts, forgive us, our intransigence, our ignorance, our illustrious undertakings that end in dust.

A tune we used to listen to together comes onto the radio

And like a dagger to my eyes blinds me with its penetrating truths that make the ghosts more real than ever they were in life.

They are still here, these people, these beautiful faces that used to make me laugh and sometimes cry.

They sit beside me.

They test my wisdom to see if it has improved.

I shake my head in despair, because I fear I am still the same person they once knew,

Who took and never gave, who stole when he should have charitably donated.

They deserved better, these ghosts.

I wish I could have been better

For them.  

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