Casualties of Life by Morgan Aine
There are ghosts standing in the doorways and ghosts waiting in the halls
Behind the thin green curtain and lining up the walls.
Ghosts that speak of long passed days.
They whisper with the wind reminding me that I’m not free
but bound to live again.
I smell a certain fragrance or hear a melody and instantly it pulls me back
And I so carefully step along the past lined path,
a bit uncertainly,
Expecting bombs and crossfire with me, a casualty.
The circles of our lifetimes repeating evermore until the lifeboat
washes up upon the sandy shore.
And the skin the sun has cracked
The parts it ripped and tore have hardened scars, no feeling left,
No longer raw and sore.
Then certain words on paper and certain little looks, will just be that no dragging back.
New words for this old book.
And the time I wasted ~ the long cuts that I took will find a way to
set me free, forever off the hook.