The Ghost Draft

In the dead of night, when the world is still
And the moon hangs low in the sky,
There's a draft that creeps through the old house walls
As if from a spirit passing by.
It starts in the attic, where shadows loom,
And whispers echo in the air,
A chill that sets your bones a-tingling
And makes you feel that someone's there.
Through the creaky floorboards it slowly descends
With a haunting, eerie sigh,
And makes its way through each darkened room
As if searching for something high.
The ghost draft, they call it, in this old house,
For no mortal could create such a thing,
A presence that lingers, intangible yet real
And leaves behind a shiver and a sting.
It plays with the curtains, rustles the sheets,
And dances with the flickering flames,
A mischievous spirit with a mischievous glee
That no one can see, but everyone claims.
Some say it's the ghost of a long lost love,
Who wanders these halls in eternal despair,
Others believe it's the soul of a child
Whose innocence was stolen by a nightmare.
But no one knows for sure the truth
Of this ghostly, chilling draft,
For some things in this world are best left
To mystery, and never be solved or laughed.
It's said that on a full moon night
When the wind howls like a long lost friend,
The ghost draft grows stronger, as if to say
It will never leave this house, until the very end.
It guides the moonbeams through broken panes
And casts a spell on all who sleep,
A trance-like state that pulls them in
To a world of secrets, dark and deep.
And in this trance, they see it all,
The memories of this old house,
The joys and sorrows, the love and loss,
That linger within, like a haunting spouse.
They see the family, who built this home,
With laughter and love, and dreams so bright,
But also the tragedies that they faced,
And the ghost draft that came with the night.
And as the night drags on, the draft grows strong,
A whirlwind of emotions, unseen,
Until finally, with the break of dawn,
It fades away, like a never-ending dream.
The house stands silent, the draft now gone,
But the memories linger, like a ghost's last breath,
And those who have felt the presence of the draft,
Know that this old house is more than just a house, but a living death.
For no one can escape the ghost draft's hold,
Once it has set its sights,
And those who enter this old house,
Beware of its chilling bites.
But for those who see beyond the fear,
And embrace the draft with open arms,
They'll find a beauty in its haunting ways,
And see the house in all its charms.
So if you ever find yourself in this old house,
And feel a draft that chills you to the bone,
Remember the spirits that reside within,
And let them guide you to the unknown.
For the ghost draft is more than just a draft,
It's a doorway to another world,
A world of secrets, love, and loss,
That will forever remain unfurled.


Authorship by Mr. Dashaun Rashod Snipes
© Mr. Dashaun Rashod Snipes
® The Ghost Draft