Upon the shelves,
high, out of reach,
in the deepest darkest
shadows cast.
Hidden from eyes,
So that they
may glance idly past,
dwells a book.
The shelf, its home
for so long.
Bedevilled moans
can be heard
whenever the crowds
are gone.
The wretched groans
of the evils done.
Here in this library,
every book exists,
every nook filled with
every story that ever fell
spiralling out from slippery lips.
Every tale told; every life lived,
and in those books, evil can exist.
It tries with might to climb right out,
every single day it plots to fright,
to collude with the very shadows,
and infiltrate the night.
It wants to collide with the moon,
smash the light from the sky.
Hear the echoes and sobs
of humans as they cry.
This cursed book,
can never be opened,
never let
the words see light.
It must stay
hidden away,
kept in the grimmest
state of decay.
For if it ever regains its strength,
then all known life
will end that day.
No one must peek, nor seek
to find answers between
it's skin fold covers,
there is nothing good to find within.
Just sin drenched in hatred,
putrefying stenches of hell
and the aching spaces that dwell
even deeper beneath.
Where the great beast,
sits atop a throne,
carved from demons bones,
Where even the devil himself
would fear to roam.
Thanks for reading
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