Ghosts of Glendale Street- by Wren Lunarise

I remember the tales of the

Ghosts on Glendale Street.

Through the Fog,

Through the Snow,

Through the Sleet

They stared with watchful eyes,

Stared as another tree dies.

They died, they left,

They no longer called this home.

They exist in the strums of my guitar

They exist in they lines between my poems

They exist in the nebulae

and every other star.

They tell me stories of their time,

They make me want to join them.

Too many painful memories

I can no longer lock up

In any chest.

I am a Ghost of Glendale Street.

I exist in the whistling of the wind.

I exist in the scratches on the trees

That spell out,

"Love is Love, I Will Be Free".