The Staircase That Watches
Each step was waiting,
Old and aware,
Holding the whispers,
Caught in the air.
The boards were restless,
Under my tread,
Shaking with secrets,
Never quite dead.
A creak behind me,
Soft as a sigh,
Made all my heartbeat,
Rise to the sky.
Something was shifting,
Up in the gloom,
Pressing its presence,
Through the whole room.
The walls grew colder,
Leaning in tight,
Listening closely,
Drinking the night.
My breath felt heavy,
Stuck in my throat,
Hanging in silence,
Barely afloat.
I reached the landing,
Trembling inside,
Wishing that shadows,
Had nowhere to hide.
Still that old staircase,
Waits for my feet,
Ready to follow,
Ready to meet.
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 (3)
The poem masterfully personifies architectural decay, turning a simple staircase into a breathing source of quiet, beautiful dread.
Wow I can tell you the truth this is so beautiful ♥️
Loved the rhyme and the images of someone walking (tediously up the stairs) and hearing them creak.