Ghosts in the hall


Kings don’t die, they live in
Paintings in the great hallway
In pseudo-eternal youth behind
mirrors of brushstrokes and paint

Queens don’t die, they rest on the walls
Beauty at the mercy of the hands of a painter
Frozen in an expression long ago
Probably a mundane day like any other

Lines I intermittently intercept with every step
I often wonder if it’ll be more courteous to crawl
Trading conversations through semi-mortal gazes
The silent chatter of ghosts in the hall

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