Where the Air is Haunted

Behind a door closed to keep the night at bay

Voices talk of quiet places where the air is haunted

Where moments stay forever

And the floorboards whisper the secrets of ghosts

The walls are stained with ebony

Blackened by lies told in the beds of lovers

Or the pleas of a man for a life he threw away

Still the artist walks there in silent frenzy

And the killer waits for a knock at the door

But the house is empty when the morning rises

The dark halls taste the sun again

And fall quiet in waiting for the night

Then do the shadows call out to you

Come and see what waits behind the door

But always leave it locked when you return to the world

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I realize this poem has nothing at all do with Christmas, but it’s just what I ended up writing last night. Hope everyone enjoys the holiday!

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Photo by Brad Fickeisen on Unsplash