Ghosts
A fictional narrative of grief and a haunted past, Ghosts follows a narrator travelling west by train, watching familiar places slide by in fading evening light. Old memories surface uninvited — a bridge once crossed with someone loved, a loss too great to ever fully set down. However far the journey goes, the past refuses to stay behind.
A quietly devastating meditation on grief that can't be reasoned with, closing on raw, unresolved need rather than easy comfort.
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Sonus Lucis — Ghosts
Travelling west upon the line,
The sound of the engine rattle.
I looked out the window from my seat,
Into faded light that eve.
Distant I saw the shapes I knew.
The places where I did grow.
The memories are there. So long they stay.
But why won't my ghosts lie down?
Here now, westward bound,
My past in a history.
Westward,
Still I am slave to the ghosts in me.
Lights of the bridge where I did stroll,
Across with my favored lady.
Remember her face ashen as cloud,
When the loss of her babe was new.
Here now, westward bound,
My past in a history.
Westward,
Still I am slave to the ghosts in me.
What can I do?
I can't turn back the clock,
You can't set things straight,
With the wave of a hand,
With a loss so great,
Will the time and the tide allow.
How can I heal?
When its all said and done,
He was my child too,
He was stolen away,
I can't sleep at night,
I've got so much love to give.