Ghosts in the Library

 

The light shines dimly through dirty windows

Dust flits across the dingy  glass and show

Wall to ceiling shelves holding books all in a row

The gild pockmarked, brittle with neglect

Floors thick with grime, each footstep introspect

Imprinted in time as I walk slowly to the other side

I glance at the spines, read the old friends’ names misty-eyed

Dickens, Bronte, Longfellow, Poe are just a few

As I read, it seems the authors come alive on cue

Their spirits rise in the pale light and dance across the floor

Twirling,  misty their forms do shape in the air galore

Only to disappear for others to appear in their wake

I’m not frightened of these ghostly forms, my heart just aches

For they are all ghostly friends, who just want to be loved once more

So they come alive and dance across the dusty floor