Ghosts (poem)

As clouds gather on the horizon
And lightning flashes across the black anvil clouds
They come again, the storm watchers

I can see them
Right outside my periphery
A glimpse of Shadow in the flash
A pair of eyes
Here a moment, and then gone

only to return in greater numbers

Another face
Another and another

Charged by the electricity in the air
They push closer to the veil
Disturbed from their sleep by the frosted hearts of man
Slaves, master, courtesan
Man, woman, child
Their mouths gape in silent words
Ghosts

They’ve come to witness the storm
As drums of mankind’s discontent beat like rolls of thunder
And they’ll be there as the bow breaks and the cradle falls
As the clouds burst forth and man pours out his anger
to greet the surprised to their new realities

I can see them
Oh my God I can see them

They stand in blood soaked garments
Whip marks fresh still upon their backs
Nooses tied limp at their shoulders

A man with numbers tattooed on his arms
Frowns deep as caverns
Still as the grave
Watching, waiting, with eyes accusing, disappointed and hard as stone

I can see them
In life they were separate by station
Ranked from best to least
But death makes us all equal
And shoulder to shoulder the march out of the dark

Oh, my soul I can still see them

Oh sweet Jesus here they are

And they’re not happy

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