• The Ghost

    He walked down the hallway every night
    Tapping on the wooden wall
    Creaking at his every step
    Making sure he would not fall.

    His voice rang heavy and rough
    Making himself clear
    For whatever he was saying
    Sounded like he did not want you here.

    His fearsome figure could be seen sometimes
    Standing by the door
    Like a hovering shadow
    That did not dare touch the floor.

    His face was so beautiful
    For such a shallow host
    It's too bad he's dead already
    And became nothing but a ghost.