Ghost

I’ve bled on more than a few battlefields,
and I buried my father in white sheets
a ghost in the abyss unchained and uncolored
always there as reminder of our mortality


I’ve challenged myself to scale mountains,
and have always returned with wavering hands
staining everything I touch with the color of the sun
with a heart refilled and renewed with hope


I’ve continually loved the red rose: a reminder
of the dress that brought me home to earth,
a reminder that God may not exist but beauty does
indeed walk amongst old clay figurines


I’ve always known that there was surreal truth
always staring back at me during soundless nights
filled with dread and tearful time bombs
but ever reassuring that we were always home