In the recesses of idleness, the scarabs bloom,
Hidden away from the naked eye.
For the things unsaid from a long ago past,
Still whisper as we stand closely by.
We do not see this alternate world,
Nor do we know if its smell is sweet,
But as it happened so long ago
Still plays oer and oer in the street.
Some times they don’t see us, or know we exist
As Demons and shadows they chase,
Macabre is the dance of their nightly prowl
Remembering the life they embraced.
They play out the days of their life as they lived them,
Not knowing their time has been spent.
Hiding away in the darkness of shadows
They search for a way to repent.
So close your eyes, don’t look, don’t listen,
Don’t chase the ghosts of the haunt.
For if you look, you just may find them,
But it may not be what you want.
© Judy Sammons
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