The Man At The Top Of The Stair

The Man At The Top Of The Stair short poem

Photo by basheertome


Ghosts hang like pictures from the walls,
traces of words echo these halls.
Sometimes at night, I can hear the staircase creak,
so I cover my head and, to myself, speak.
I tell myself nothing is there, nothing is there,
then I check for the man at the top of the stair.

Of course, he’s always there.

He always arrives just as I try to sleep,
and awake, open eyes he keeps,
and so too he keeps me,
with a barrage of stories
about people and events before my time.

His hand brushes mine as he leaves with the sun
and he always returns when the day is done.
I know not his name, but I know his tale,
for he tells it every single night without fail.
Oh, that man, he is never there,
so why do I know he is at the top of the stair?

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1 Comment on "The Man At The Top Of The Stair"

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Aloke
Member

A brilliant evocation of eerie atmosphere., Kudos

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