The pale essayists of the specter
Its stands in the door as if it was trap
Like a prisoner to its own figure
As the night goes by it lingered
Acros the dark oak floor
Like the lightest feather
My eyes keeping on it like a moth to a flame
As if it was its own keeper
With each blink my eyelids get heavier
Like a snowball down a white hill
I must stay alert
For the specter may move
It eyes burn like a flame to a candle
I'm mesmerized by its lean figure
Its long white gown glows in the night
It stares at me
And only me
Nothing in my room
Not the book shelf or the desk
Just me
Not the cloths on the floor
Or the dresser
Just me
I say nothing and it say nothing
Seconds turn to minutes
Minutes to hours
Of the specter
But as the sun rises
And the suns rays glow through my window
And graces my floor
The specter makes no hace
And disappears without a trace
I still think of the speacter
Its white hair blinds the night
It moving but not touching the cold floor
The chill i felt as it gazed at me
The specter in the door will forever be with me
As it will all ways be with that door
YOU ARE READING
Specter In The Doorway
PoesieA young boy is in his room late at night and sees a mysterious figure in the door way
