Ghost Walk Poem by r james sterzinger

I talk to my ghosts
they come to me
at late night walks.

they come up
through sidewalk cracks
and knot holes in trees
dripping their sadness like blood
from the veins of leaves.

they are wisps
of cigarette smoke
they come to me on soft breezes
they whisper to me my sins
reminding me of memories,

memories and guilt
I would rather forget
I say my late night prayers
asking for forgiveness from them
that I know I don't deserve.