House of Ghosts
It does not seem like a house of ghosts.
Bright sunshine comes in the window
and catches crystals on the candelabra.
Paintings, full of color, on the walls.
A notable lack of knick knacks on the bookshelves.
Fresh air, rife with lilac wafts.
Outside, birds sing softly.
It does not seem like a house of ghosts
but they are there, companions collected
in a life worth living. As I have aged,
so have they,
Becoming less than frightful, then comfortable,
and finally, fellow travelers on your journey.
They have aged, perhaps better than I,
and the house never matters
for you have lived in many of them
always with the same ghosts,
curious as I,
at how it will all turn out.
About this poem
At a certain age, everything in your life has acquired a story. And if you are lucky, you get to choose the meaning. Not all ghosts are bad. Some are a blast.