Path Of Ghosts

Follow footsteps down the garden path of ghosts.
Scrape the skin from heels of hours barely gone.
In pursuit of spirits seen as living souls,
Walk the wending way of memory made flesh,
While the flowers of the future still smell fresh.
Spin the needle at the confluence of poles,
For this power is a force to ponder on:
A visual design flaw that nature boasts;
A product of the wetware in the cortex.
Dismiss the spectre whispering words of fate,
Heard on the crazy paving maze known as life.
Take the fork leading to Occam's sharp edged knife.
Believe in the impermanent form of hate.
Shades cannot stand exposure at the apex
And will seek secure seclusion here at home,
In corners and incarnate and in plain sight.
These vampires are not creatures cloaked at midnight.
Open doors to the post-millennium dome.
The medium; the message; the media;
Form a trinity with suspect criteria.