I Want You To Write A Poem Off-the-cuff Right Here Right Now

One day you left your home, among
with all you hated most
You left old lullabies unsung
And swore you'd lose your mother tongue
As your small, shaking hands still clung
to one life free of ghosts.

After the ghosts had been released,
You filled up all the holes.
You got a life of mostly ease,
And never knew you paid big fees
For ghosts are mostly memories
And languages are souls.