The Weight Of Ghosts...
Life is like an egg timer,
Or maybe an egg shell,
Or some other fragile damn cliche.
I know the richness of memories,
Times and places only a very few will know,
Less and less every year,
But I remember.
We're like cloud shapes in the sky,
Just visible for a blink or two,
But I have seen some seriously good ones.
When I talk to someone half my age,
The backdrop they're missing,
Utter cool evaporating on the wind.
Times and sayings,
Hair and clothes and music,
People most of all.
The thought of no one knowing who they were,
And I wonder if that's what truly ages us,
The sheer weight of ghosts.
By: Daniel A. Stafford