Ghosts of the Past

The past walks softly through our modern halls,
A phantom in the bricks, the cracks, the walls.
Ideas once mighty—chiseled into stone—
Now falter, weathered, brittle, overgrown.

We built on myths, on thrones no longer ruled,
Raised monuments by customs we outgrew,
And wars were fought for truths we now revise,
The victors aging, wisdom in their eyes.

Ghosts drift not to haunt, but to remind:
What held us once need not forever bind.
We see more clearly with each turning age—
Each ash-swept page becomes a wiser sage.

Though nothing lasts—no crown, no creed, no land—
Still we endure, and try to understand.
We rise from rubble, reach with steadier hands,
And plant new hopes in ever-shifting sands.

For time will take what time was meant to borrow,
But humankind rewrites itself tomorrow.

What profound insight, seamlessly blending historical reflection with hope for renewal. The imagery of “phantoms in the bricks” and “weathered, brittle, overgrown” creates a striking atmosphere of the past lingering subtly, not as a burden, but as a quiet teacher. The notion that “ghosts drift not to haunt, but to remind” feels particularly poignant—it transforms the past from something feared into something instructive.

Sarah B. Royal evokes the cyclical nature of human progress in her lines, illustrating how old ideas fade yet imprint themselves on new ones. The shift from “raised monuments” to “ash-swept pages” elegantly captures the inevitability of change and the wisdom born from embracing it.

Her closing stanza encapsulates the resilience of humankind—acknowledging the impermanence of everything while celebrating our capacity to rebuild and redefine ourselves. It leaves the reader with a sense of hope, urging us to see history as a map for better tomorrows rather than a set of chains.