Sitting on a lonely chair
atop four floors of memory,
I sit at night among ghosts.
I watch them run from door to door
across the roof-top.
They play the night games I once played for real.
I won't play them again the same--
the people are gone who taught them to me.
And with each leaving, left a ghost to play
I am the last to leave
and sit alone in the shell of past happiness.
I wish you filled the hollow places,
the emptiness that haunts ghost faces.