Ghosts

A prejudice like this cannot be topped

There's ghosts in my bedroom, and it's near 6 o'clock

Ancestors angling for their torment to stop,

beligerant whining and belittling talk

Why'm I not fighting the wars that they start

Why'm I not writing more from the heart

The hatred they built up that tore them apart

invisible to them as they are to us

Let go

The past is a perilous show

a rerun that everybody already knows

Fumbling though albums, my fingers get caught

on people I don't know who've all gone to rot

the spirits created to give me a scare, to condescend to me,

and to make me aware

History happened, it cannot be stopped

These phantoms remind me that I'm part of the plot,

a novel unfinished with too many layers,

motifs and themes that don't go anywhere

Characters killed off, randomly shot

no one to root for,

and no one to like

Let go

The past is a perilous show

a rerun that everybody already knows