Ghosts.

Standing alone as the world stops turning,

She grasps for a handhold, watching the blaze.

Embracing flame, crisp autumn leaves burning,

Panic ensues as the atheist prays.

 

Surrounded by sorrow, he falls to the ground,

Weakness consuming the powerless man.

His resolve is crushed, his soul has drowned,

So she tells him lies, and gives him her hand

 

The shadows of man turn to ash and dust,

They shelter, together, as night grows near.

Shrug off their terror, replace it with trust,

Belief in each other growing with fear.

 

Surrendering to hope, he is held close,

As she whispers ‘One day we’ll all be ghosts’.