Old Things
We tire of old things
Yet loathe to discard them
We wear them like rags
And bury ourselves with them in death
Like prisoners of the past
We shuffle along
Forlorn
Disgusted
And scorned
If only we could cast our rags into the fire
And pay no mind to the imagined confines of our cell
Then perhaps the power of ghosts
Would no more hold the reins
And we would leap, light-footed
Into today
Where light lingers and plays
Upon the manifest now
And shadows do not cling to flesh
But kneel in allegiance to time
We tire of old things
Yet loathe to discard them
We wear them like rags
And bury ourselves with them in death
Like prisoners of the past
We shuffle along
Forlorn
Disgusted
And scorned
If only we could cast our rags into the fire
And pay no mind to the imagined confines of our cell
Then perhaps the power of ghosts
Would no more hold the reins
And we would leap, light-footed
Into today
Where light lingers and plays
Upon the manifest now
And shadows do not cling to flesh
But kneel in allegiance to time
