the skulls of what may
the ghastly figures
the ghosts of hesitant musings
the salvation that never needed me
the illuminations filling
the distant ring of dying bells
the lover asleep in wheat fields
the apparitions of the what-ifs
suddenly the world is all but what it is
a ghostlike vision enfolding as an illusion
believe so harshly it destroys to change
believe in me so harshly you cannot stand
amidst the glory.
the heavy locks are being changed,
we are the ghosts of what may.