Carbon and Dust

The musty scent
of screaming words,
muffled like mouth-less folk.
Rituals shelved
in static light,
you call them books -
I call them Ghosts.

A collection of pseudonyms
Of fallacies, and truths
Of myths and hearts
On pages,
Lost
in Carbon, Words,
and Dust.

In this morgue today,
in this library
of decay -
full of history,
Silenced and Null
It's almost as if
the books are all Ghosts
and were never
written at all.

Nikki Satira