The Ghosts With No Names

- 1 -

How can we ever forget? 

The air was harsh with no scent of warmth or sweetness, a delicate fragrance once perfumed by mother's lilac scent; and all that remained in the meager house was the ill stench of burning paper.  Sparks of flames released from the broken windows into the dark lonely night.  Sketchbooks, neatly adorned with cobalt ribbons, smeared with paint residue, we're now thrown into the fireplace like a worthless mountain of unfulfilled dreams, fluttering further and father into the dark cloudy night.   The melancholic dreams of an artist, fade away into a bleeding, ash-tainted sky.  So withered and earthly, like a bleeding stab.

A soft sigh escapes from the child's lips, the definitive trial that marked the end of his passionate existence.  What meaning in life is there, when the budding passion of a flower, flourishing has been seized and plucked from the very chance to bloom.  

"Mother..." 

There were cries, whaling children longing to breathe underneath fallen debris, trapping them within a poisonous powder of smokey dust.  Their minds stricken by starvation underneath large rubble, trapping their torn, childlike bodies squeezed deeply underneath piles of misery.  Haunted by a deep fear, engulfing their skeletons, unable to breath.

They sang one last melody, a taunting song that burned into my ears; an innocent melody that would promise to return.  The starry night above, whispers their sweet melodies as their timeless hums, like dust, rising, and scattering into nothingness; fading into the thin air like a sigh of relief.  Across the far  

"We're still here..." They whispered.

Running through my skin, I can only feel a cool chill putting it's touch on me, their forgotten stories sinking into my mind.  They visited me.   

The joy of their songs whispering in my ear...