Invisible and intangible,
They lurk in the shadows and in the darkness,
In things we can not see nor procure,
In the whispering and ominous winds,
In the deafening silence and noise,
In the reflection of the mirror,
And the sound when it shatters.
They were us, and now surround us.
They lived before us, and through death,
They will “live” far beyond us,
Forever lost until oblivion comes.
Some of us will even join them,
As they mindlessly search
For peace and contentedness,
For revenge and blood,
For anything to end their quest.
These are the souls of history,
The collective remains of our ancestors.
They have been called many names.
However, in the end, they are simply