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Ghosts, Too

I hope this poem makes sense. I'm continuing from the topic of my last post (plus I think there's a little influence from the movie "The Sixth Sense," because I try to make a turn at the end). Even though the poem is a little dark (one thing I don't like about it), my point for it is to show that the things I think I see in others could actually be things I find in me.

Ghosts
The ghosts don’t mind me staring here
Both mute and faceless all the same
Their course made straight, still filled with fear,
Pretending not to play this game

These listless souls feign none to need
Their vision pitched by nightless sky
They bury deep their doubted creed
Perceived within a corporate sigh

First one, then all, push past their lack
And find strange comfort in their plight
While wars in wars leave beaten back
Emerging souls that yearn for night

I look to find a pitch-black dark
And start to weep at what I see
For then I find with no remark
Their soulful features watching me
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