Can you see the ghosts of hours past?
In each room, shards of yesterday, cutting into memory recall, to question, guide and console.
Can you see the ghosts of moments past?
Echoing in freefall, as times run out, and you become a shadow of your former doubt.
Can you see the ghosts of seconds passed?
Shedding their skin, eroding asunder. Sweet salvation save me from being there when the ink runs out.
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Author:
Emile Dubois (
Offline) - Published: January 25th, 2025 03:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
Offline)
Comments2
Cleverly worded this poem of time and its passage runs out too soon as well. Nicely written it gets its message across with some great lines. Lovely
Merci pour votre commentaire.
It’s like a moulting when our becoming and leaving transits across segments of experience. Quite intriguing this 🙏🏻👍🏻🕊
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