Ghosts of the Past

Ghosts of the Past

The ghosts of the past gather around me,
Their ephemeral touch reaching through me,
Touching not my body yet deeper – my heart, my soul.

Longing to reconcile rises and falls in my chest
Like the tumultuous swell of the storm swept ocean,
But I make reasons why I cannot - pride, distance, time.
Yet it is none of these ghosts who are troubled by my conscience, only me

And still they circle me,
Their touch reaching through the wall built long ago around my heart with ease,
Plucking at the memories I try to deny myself.
The good times, the laughter, the love

As they do I realise, or perhaps I merely allow myself to understand,
That I will do this time and again.
Accruing more ghosts of regret because of my prideful ways.


Pride comes before a fall.

When I fall it will be long and lonely,
Abandoned by even my ghosts as they circle above me like vultures,
Or maybe powerless angels,
Powerless because I was too arrogant to reach out and lay our differences aside.