Ghost Memory
By Jason Schmidt
Paddling in a fog,
on rivers made from all my fears.
Puddles of my tears,
on paths worn from all my years.
Phantoms flying by,
on whispers to things I won’t face.
People here but gone,
on leaves flinting to an anyplace.
As my body dies,
I still haven’t though my future’s past.
My spirit wanders,
seeking Eden from which I was cast.
I came to the end,
the ghost of me has been warned of.
Valley of Fire,
when the road ends from up above.
God’s tears fell,
quenching the fire with the rain.
Soul didn’t burn,
so why do I still feel the pain?
Heaven is a place,
and my past is on the back I bring.
Hell is not a fire.
It’s Regret. I remember everything.
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