There are spirits in the room
As the light pours in, illuminating
The floating words from old texts read
The shadows are etched into the walls
From the past, the same youths
Whom with opened doors to their minds
Welcomed the history that swirled
In that same room, and with my own
Opened door and opened chest
I took in the words
Sitting in the same pew-like seats
Smelling the pages of divine writers
Of the past and there is something
Holy and sacred about them,
Knowing that they came from hands
That have created something
Timeless, that lives to this day
And I believe wholly with my being
Sitting in my usual second row seat
That they live in me, as my shadow
Converse with the ones on the walls
Of the present past, and I am comforted
And strangely attracted to this room,
As if I have been there all along,
As if this is where I should be,
As my shadow is etched into the wall.
Waking up early for my 16th Century Poet & Prose class is always worth it.
This room, so historical and nostalgic, makes me feel so... so in awe.
Of all the things that have transpired, all the passage of time, the learning.
I really did see dancing spirits and have one within myself as well.
