We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

Pressing their steel toed boots into the flesh of our heels,

Willing us to move forward.

We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

Where even the best and brightest soon become corpses,

The same in bones as common folk.

We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

A constant reminder that we must outdo them in legacy and in life,

To be better than our forbearers.

We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

A land where nothing will ever leave and nothing new will be created,

All that is was simply reinvented.

We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

Where phantoms are preserved in namesake through theories and equations,

Breathing only through the lips of new successors.

Perhaps we acknowledge these dirt bound patrons because we are afraid that we too will be nothing in the end,

That our imprints only mar the earth if we leave something behind.