Of Which We Refuse to Set Free

When I was little

I always thought ghosts

Were just the spirits of the dead

That lived in old houses

And liked to scare people

But long ago

I shed my naive fancies

And bravely declared

That all ghosts were fakes

Only to be used

For haunted houses

And stories that were

Half whispered in the dark

And as I shed another layer

Of childhood and entered

The world of adults

I learned the hard way

That the only ghosts

That are in the world

Are the memories

That we refuse to set free