• Yale Bowman

Poem: Ghosts

What is time? A tick of the clock. Everything happens as is. Forever impermanent. The past is so uncomfortably comfortable. A dead friend we are reluctant to bury. Change is entirely uncomfortable. Change happens every minute. I want you to accept that things change like you accept the fact that the air you breathe has been poisoned; By our parents and their parents. We need to breathe in our poison change. It’s the only air we have to breathe. And It is poison. Poison for the stale and outdated pasts dwelling in the present. But change can be death for a greater cause, fueled by a bit of chaos. Embody it, or it will swallow you. You are changed, and you are changing. Stop fighting, and start shaping. Let the moment die valiently, no longer just the same old moment ticking by a faceless clock. Allow your hands to be filthy with change. The next minute is a death sentence for the minutes prior. Not everything dies right away, but everything dies. Even Good things die. The village becomes the epicenter, The country becomes an empire; To destroy the empire, free the individual. Accept each momentary death, emerge from within, and be free. To fear death is to fear life, one always rides upon the back of the other. Full living has always been reached through ever frequent dying. This is a poem by me, published through the Indianapolis based Face A Face Collective! Visit us and see more at: www.fafcollective.com 


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