For the Ghosts of Our Time
by: Robert Zimmerman

Now, it seems that we are here,
Just as it seemed in yesteryear.
In the night, it all comes clear.
Misstep, crumple by the mirror.
Our vision fades,
We see not the horrible shades.

We hear voices
And, swallowing hard,
The truth comes, bitter.
We have made their choices.
« Take comfort in the lost,
For we are their makers. »


We have proclaimed,
Without thought or name,
That some should die.
« Never look them in the eye. »
Whispers, you hear --
The cries of those you damned, you fear.

Meet them half way, you say,
Follow them to the grave.
Don't let them stray,
For you, too, will pay.