Watch the darkness searching
The halls. The whispers that creep
From crevices serve no deterrence.
It continues, passing along
The dust, the abandoned rooms,
A soul shambling. It doesn’t see
Us as we follow–it’s become
A sad theater; an echoless shape
Sifting slowly, tirelessly, beyond
The meanings of desire. It discarded
Its face long ago.
Written for 13 Days of Samhain.