The Ghosts

The ghosts in my dreams, in my window, on the path rich and green.
The old battle cries of wars
in the midst of the dream called childhood
where all is nothing but has
so much purpose in the moments of haunting potential
and sweet clarity of angst.
They walk here as a bank of life filling the atmosphere.
“Lets go to the pavillion, let’s walk through “our” woods. Let’s have common government,
let’s play society.
Some will learn and earn.
Some will break and burn.
Some will burn and break.

Hold me to these ghosts for a moment.
They are part of our time
and of those whose time has not yet come.
My head is in a fog of fire to know that what we do here
is not just for me, you, or us;
it is for people outside of us who will become
the weight
of the earth
and the collective
mind of the world.

They too will some day discover what was really simple
and what was really not.
Let me be these ghosts
and all at once be myself and many,
where I find myself in all
and all find themselves in me.
I am because we are.