Moonlit Playground

Ghosts come out during the moonlit day.

Raspy wood protests its burden as ghostly horses neigh.

Silhouettes dance on moonlit walls.

A crisp chill stains the air with smells of fall.

Wet footprints splash across the red-bricked hotel’s floors.

Vacant desks lie under mason ritual and folklore.

Mystery bleeds onto the dusty street.

Ghosts emerge stirring as dancing sheets.

For before long, they will come out to play.

When the ghosts come out in the moonlit day.

Phantoms of the Military Brat

Ghosts of my past, they lurk here.

This place that used to feel like home.

This place where I laughed, cried, prayed.

I took the same route to school every day,

Through the same entrance gate,

Saw the same friends,

Practiced on the same courts,

Swam in the same pools.

I built a life.

Then, sounds of packing tape and cardboard.

A last day in this life, the gloom of the last day hanging over my head.

Meaningless goodbyes and a night unfulfilled in a once-fulfilling life.

That life fades into the rearview.

Ghosts remain, but only of my memories.

Curse of the Wanderer

Trees are strong and firm creatures.

Fed by streams of water, they have stabilizing roots and they flourish.

I am not a tree.

I will be like chaff in the wind, cursed with the inability to settle.

Fate had dealt me no home, no place to run for belonging.

I must find my own way to flourish.

Therefore, I will run and find strength in the journey.

I will find belonging in strange places and new people.

The blessings of the trees may haunt me, but

I will touch the corners of the earth.

I may not have stabilizing roots, but

I will find the triumph of climbing mountains, feel the life of cities.

My heart will beat as I explore.

My soul will be filled as I find the courage to keep moving.

Doomed to wander the earth in search of everything and nothing.

Until one day I find the serenity of the trees.