There are ghostly foot prints of the past.
Graves not visited and no farewells.
Not knowing the resting place to say goodbuy.
There is nothing to cling to, no special item to put in a treasure chest.
Memories faded like pencil on paper.
There is ghostly foot prints of the past and shady faces of reality long lost
Image of little hands
Clinging to a toy bear.
There was letters, but that is gone,
Lost years packed in a box.
If there was a map to where you rest,
With so many questions
and the tortured mind of never knowing the answers.
Unfinished business of the living and the dead can’t speak.
I will have a glas jar filled with crave sand.
That is all you ever was,
A memory like a faded dream
In a glass jar, some where thats no where.
Locked in a box.