Ghosts

Crudely cut cardboard signs

held by hands bound by sun soaked leather

which know not the feeling of love

only the comfort

of prayer

Their eyes sunken and hollow

drowning at the bottom

of whatever silences pain

Scenes of childhood memories flickering

through their mind

How can one be so sure of a past that came before?

Were these ghosts always destined to wander aimlessly through time?