A selection from Vagabonds and Sundries

 

My ghosts rattle through the house,
The same now, as they did decades ago
Upon the nights of their creation.

Once tormenting me with the memories they carry,
I have grown accustom to their presence,
Tending them as if they were my children,

Rather than my captors.

Once I laid awake trying to undo them.
Now I sit with them, tending to their survival,
Afraid of what life would be without their company.

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