Whenever I come home tired, beat up,
Wrung out by the trials of my day,
Then I feel like I am an empty house,
Long abandoned, with ghosts and memories.
Then, I realize that the ghosts are mine;
My past experiences which shaped me,
My present memories, a shining light.
Radiates from within the empty house.
Thru fatigue’s fog, I see I’m not empty,
I am a shell holding a golden light
“Shell of Light”
by
Jerry E Smith
©10/7/16
