GHOSTS

“The past is a million miles away”

I say, looking at familiar places

On a 17 inch computer screen

 

Photos taken

When I last walked those spaces

There were no ghosts

Now I see the ghosts

Here I am, young and hopeful

Here are friends, some alive, some dead

More like whimsical chimera

Trapped forever in the concrete of the city

The pores of the breathing buildings

 

Mouths open in laughter

Or terror

Or song

“…we shall overcome…”

“…how many deaths does it take…”

“…come on baby light my fire…”

“…I can’t get no satisfaction…”

“…the times they are a’changing…”

Echoing down the years

Fingers pressing frets

Changing chords audible only on vinyl

 

And most of all writing and reciting poetry

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness…”

Define madness, I whisper to Allen Ginsberg’s ghost

Your generation preceded mine

My generation‘s minds may have been destroyed by TV

 

What I want to know is

Where is Music? Where are Ideas? Where are Love and Peace?

Haunting the old photos posted online?

Merely ghosts from the aging past…

 

© 2014 ViataMaja

 

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