The Ghost in the Library
I could feel it’s eye’s on my Pen urging me to write
The Ghost in the Library
Books whispered softly,
their pages folding like wings,
and I felt eyes
from invisible corners trace me.
A cold hand pressed
against my shoulder,
though no one was there,
and I shivered beneath the silence.
Shelves leaned slightly,
pressing their shadows
against the aisles,
and the floorboards hummed quietly.
I opened a tome,
and letters twisted
into shapes that could speak
if I listened carefully.
The ghost hovered closer,
its breath a mist of forgotten stories,
and I realized
it had been reading me for years.
Even the candle flickered,
its flame bending toward the specter,
and I felt the library
fold around its presence.
When I left,
the ghost followed softly,
pressing history into the night
like invisible ink on my back.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (2)
And I love going to the library too! Brilliant work as always, thankyou for sharing xx
I love this 🥰