Are we spared from
Seeing spirits wander
Among us because
When they separated
From their body
Their clothes too
Were left behind?

Do they walk
Naked in the night
Chilled to the bones
They can no longer find?
Do they feel what
They've lost like
The unscratchable itch
On a severed limb?

Do they dance
In the wind
With the leaves
Flying through the grass?
Do they scream
For our attention
Trying to cover themselves
While we blithely pass by?

Do they play
Out their scenes
On a stage filled
With insanity?
Do they strive to
Reach us or use their
New found freedom to
Frolic unseen by prying eyes?

Maybe we're simply spared
From seeing the hell
Some people visit
After a life of living
In suppressed fantasy
Where inhibitions fail
To limit action in a society
Still pure with impure thoughts.