Souls That Weren’t Done Living

At times I wonder,

About the sounds I hear.

At the dead of night.

The voices whose source

I never find.


A tap in the dark,

A shadow

in the corner,

Shapes that vanish,

As I look

Over my shoulder.


I sense them around me,

At the dead of night.

The unfulfilled dreams,

Hiding out of sight.

Waiting to be discovered.

Behind the Blinds


I see them, a glance,

But for a second,

They vanish and pretend

to have never existed,

Scared to scare me away,

Waiting to be acknowledged.


Sometimes, just sometimes

I hear more.

A whisper,

As soft as rustling leaves,

Or ever so slight a breeze,

Trying to tell me something.


Maybe their stories,

That nobody wrote.

Maybe their wishes,

That were never fulfilled.

Or maybe they just need,

A ear that listens.


They lurk behind the shadows

Beyond my room

Sometimes, within.

Waiting for me.

The ghosts of yesteryear.

Souls that weren’t done living.


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