Ghosts

Surely ghosts don’t ache in places
They don’t have places
Or hands or faces

The dead don’t walk upon the ground
They can’t be found
And make no sound

Spirits do not breath the air
Or comb their hair
Or sit and stare

Yet wandering, unheard, unseen
As in a dream
A daily theme

A ghost of living flesh and bone
Sat all alone
So all alone

Among six billion souls or more
Hear them roar
Outside my door

Surely ghosts don’t feel pain
Or go insane
Inside their brain

The dead no longer rage or weep
Way down deep
Deep in their sleep

The dead no longer howl or cry
Choke and sigh
Their eyes are dry

Surely ghosts don’t miss this life
Or emotion’s knife
Or all the strife

Surely ghosts don’t ache in places
They don’t have places
Or hands or faces