ghosts

they walk among us, spirits of the dead;
unseen but ever watching our lives.
pale and thin, with incorporeal tread,
they assail the planet with unheard sighs.

caught between worlds, unable to depart,
these apparitions do not wish us ill.
they remain for their vicarious art:
with others' lives, their empty souls to fill.

among these subjects, they sometimes come by
a person despondently low, who sighs,
"yes, my life sucks, but at least i'm alive" -
the phantoms shudder; rub tears from their eyes.