Ghosts in my path beckon at me from a window,
They’ve written songs, we have sung in the past.
Simpler where times when I did not comprehend,
By the time my sight focused, they vanished again.
Experiences a many have passed since then,
And the ghosts they beckon at me again,
I cannot lay the blame to them for a friend,
For a friend has cost them the other’s end.
As I went up the staircase the thought wavered
Through my mind: I used to see you everyday
And I have not seen you in over three blue moons.
How many forests have fallen and risen since then?
Words read, words mold, and words have changed you.
Cease your beckoning, the judgment won’t turn,
You knew the problem and chose to support it
Becoming the very thing you hated, in life, a ghost.
Alan Valle Monagas