Grief

There are ghosts in the mortuary parking lot Unable to invent a life for themselves They sit and wait In dusty, invisible vehicles Waiting, hoping to gain some knowledge About the spiral staircase From souls emerging There seems to be no other way than to wait They don’t force it Wild ponies tend to bolt if you run up on them Feathers fly if you’re reach is thoughtless And creates wind Liquid life gushes in the vortex if your influence is careless So they wait for it, under a broken moon They wait for the evening to be conceived And for the sun to originate the day They wait for messages of learning to become life lessons They face the wind and wait for the calm Screaming to the air they listen with new ears Growing their appetite for hearing wild tones of the spirit Hunger for discerning emerges With all their waiting they purchase visible vehicles That restore them They awake and wonder Where the time has gone