So much bounty that we always took for granted. Always wanting more, never enjoying what we had. Until we realized–too late–that time was the one scarcity that mattered.
Now, our hall remains empty. Others take possession of what was ours. All that remains of us is the echo of our coveting. The “hungry ghosts,” little more than a troubled memory, that want for the only treasure we can never have.
fallen leaves rustled
by a breeze
how empty these vain lives were
how restless these spirits are
Real Toads’ Tuesday Platform (imagined by Vivian Zems)