Again and again, the ghosts of aeons past
walk the narrow corridors of your life.

Again and again, they call to you
in the darkness in which you are lost.

Again and again, you hear them not,
preoccupied in vain to find the way.

Again and again, you stumble and fall
into the hardness of walls and floors.

Again and again, you will not learn to love
the world into which you have been born.

Again and again, you will not learn to leave
the world in which you age and die.

Again and again, the confines of your life
urge you onwards as this world turns round.

Again and again, the ghosts cry out to you
knowing what they have learned.

Again and again, you cry out also,
not knowing why, for this you have not learned.

Again and again, the corridors of your life
end blankly, wordlessly, in empty rooms.