The Ghost

I see him walking down the cobbled street
His eyes of grey reflecting desires I seek
A boy of 15 so forlorn and cold
Dreams of a beautiful past I have told
Sometimes I see him, beneath the cornea of my eye
A shadow of the past, a memory of mine
For the ghosts of your past will pass away
As the nights of your dreaming turns to day
Where do they go when they leave?
They go into the shadows, shifting like thieves
Sometimes I see him, beneath the distractions of time
A poor little boy, not theirs nor mine
But belonging to no one, not adored and forgot
By all who walks through life blind
Happiness they do not find
Someday, when they do die
They will find themselves like this boy
Unable to let go, to let go of their insignificant toys
In limbo for the rest of their days
Fading memories of fate
Repeating past and undue mistakes
Undone
Are the doors in their heart
For it was no more.

De Zhong