Ghosts, Come Gather (Sing Your Grey Songs)
Wind at my back
Haunting a past
I no longer hear
Now with her (my love)
In my life.
Dead spirits,
You hold no more sway
As I hurtle on across
This expanding plain
Pointed toward a new beginning
And inevitably on to the end.
Sighs. Whispers. Screams.
What I cannot hear is that which
invites reverie, contemplation.
Ghosts,
Come gather around this fire
I have built purely from will
And sing your grey songs.
Though I can no longer hear them,
I am always listening
To the silence, to her (my love),
To the stories my own blood carries
To the end.
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