The Pocket Muse, Page 12 (Journal 8)

I wrote this poem in response to the prompt on page 12 of Monica Wood's The Pocket Muse:

Enter here:

Footfalls echo through darkened halls

whispering prayers

pale light leaks weakly through cathedral windows

dust clouds puff and settle

peeling paint chips drift and fall

scars on once-ornate curves and molding

now mouldering

a dark door looms, rusting on ancient hinges,

creakily giving way beneath my weight

furniture huddles,

ghostly beneath remnants of tattered sheets

four posters stand sentinel

dented pillows cradle impressions

of sleepers long-forgotten

iron-gray strands tangle in a tarnishing hairbrush

languishing in ages of powdery grit

the oval vanity mirror, grimy and flecked

reflects shadowy impressions lost to time.