Secrets buried in the sand hold

hidden memories of lives gone by.

Unearthed remains tell a story.

Dug up pottery paint a picture.

Lives in the past merge with the future.

Differences become insignificant.

Time becomes transient.

The cycle begins again.

Days flow into weeks.

Weeks into years.

Years to centuries.

Centuries fly by.

Nothing is new.

The cycle continues.

Our past becomes our future.

Until the sands of time bury our existence.

Then our future becomes our past.

And the cycle begins again.




The house sits alone,

Night after night.

Ghosts inhabit its walls.

Demons live below its floors,

Waiting for the night

When the moon bleeds red

And shadows walk tall.

Lights shine through the windows.

Sounds creep from the basement.

It’s time.







Oh, Ouija Board,

please bring me spirits.

Spirits of the light

and ones of the damned.

I want to hear their tales

of past lives and woes.

I want to feel

their ghostly presence.

Their dead breath

on my face.

I  feel their cold breath.

Shrieks fill the night.

Icy fingers trail down my face.

They’re at my neck.


Too tight.

Much too tight…


Inside Edinburgh’s castle. Scotland || Personal photograph



A castle where spirits walk

Darkness hides in corners

Vintage fingerprints smudge the walls

Old fragrances float in the air

Shadows follow without footsteps

And sighs fill the empty spaces