Wandering Souls

A ghostly poem

Pale white fingers, as cold as ice

Forgotten souls roaming the night

All seem dead, but somehow alive
Trying to find their meaning inside
Roaming the streets under the pale moonlight
Those souls searching,searching for what is right
Shining bright with that unearthly sheen
Stuck in the world of in between
Crying their sad melodies of their broken heart
Left in the dark unable to part
Flowers forever falling on their graves,
The beautiful red petals shrivel and die
With every year that's passing by
All the sadness, that constant sadness
Shown where ever those souls go
Their lives cut short under that evening snow