Of love and ghosts

The sun is bright,     Life bursts in sight,     Yet despair clutches     My limp soul in crutches,     In disparaging desperate despair,     Gasping and groping for repair.     As time and patience fly     Love buds and awaits to die.     Are we not all lost ghosts?     Ghosts of our shattered selves,     Ghosts of our invented selves,     Ghosts of the loves we invent     Before we die in the intent.