Forgotten Places

There is a book,

That must be found.

Brown and aging,

Flaking pages,

Crumbling cover,

Thick and musty.

A red stone is embedded,

In the center of the cover.

Glowing,

Always glowing.

The book is hidden in forgotten places,

Only forgotten things can find it there.

There is a spirit

With the book,

No,

In the book.

It talks and guides,

Whispers and taunts,

A being of contradictions.

There is a place,

A forgotten place

With a forgotten book.

Where war was waged,

Between the living and the stones.

Ice keeps the place standing still,

But not enough,

Never enough.

Statues move with extended grace,

Slow as syrup, endlessly enchanting.

A blink or two,

When no one’s looking.

A breath or two,

When the wind stops shaking.

There is a girl,

That remembers a forgotten place.

She treads on pictures,

Like fallen leaves,

Endless whispers,

In her dreams.

A spirit in a once new book,

Seeks the living,

Grasps and hooks.

The girl remembers history’s fade,

As human castes try and rearrange.

She can’t forget

The icy look,

The statues pleas,

And an old, worn book.

The stone is glowing,

Warm and worn,

Pulsing weakly,

A heart is born.

The girl is searching,

For a warmth unknown,

They took her heart

And turned it to stone.

Now, forever she must wander,

Forgotten places,

Require a forgotten master.