When the dead come back to me
It’s because I can’t forget
The gifts they gave me, and
Ones I haven’t gotten yet.
It’s not like I’m having tea with
Some undead moldy skeleton.
Just listen closely and you will
Understand it all when I am done.
As it’s not all Disney roses
When these spirits come to call.
I think they come back to haunt
Whenever they feel the call.
It runs about fifty-fifty most times
Between the horrors and the glories.
Everyone from my past it seems
Wants to share with me their stories.
Some of them are active now
And alive as they can be
But they left me and went away
So, they are as dead to me.
They come to make me question
Issues of what’s wrong and right
When the dead come to talk
With me alone, in dark of night.
I used to fret and wring my hands
And try to decipher their signs.
But now I accept it as what it is
And today I feel it’s all just fine.
I am sure it is worth more to me
To understand what has gone by.
So when the dead come back to me
I have begun to understand why.