There are Ghosts

There are ghosts riding the winds of time,

flying over the fields where they gave their lives,

heroes, perhaps for someone else’s cause;

or took their own lives, victims of the world’s madness,

a decision reached, a simple choice easily made;

or the victim of someone else’s madness,

a violent loss, too soon ending dreams and hopes,

these ghosts riding the winds of time, timeless now,

taking flight across the fields of death.

 

And for what do they search, wandering,

blown with the wind, finding naught?

Nothing but the final rest of peaceful men.