Waiting .

The silence within this place seems solidly immutable,
as solid as the very walls themselves
that muffle implacably the distant outside roar.

Wait now.   And crouch in the silence that surrounds;
hold back the thoughts that generate the sighs,
the gasps, the half articulated whispers
that otherwise would echo here without meaning.

A bar of light thrusts itself through the dust motes,   
precise and hard, slicing the space before the door
 but bypassing walls that would show, scarred  with graffiti ,
filled  with  familiar  pleas  of both  love  and  hate.

There is a shadow on the threshold.

Is the door open?

Is there a turnkey who has opened the lock?

Unspoken questions demand three steps to learn the answer.
Turn then and pace;  once;  twice;  stop.

Beyond the threshold there is a chirruping from the passage.
The very frailty of the sound has a menace
more than the pad and click of paw  and claws
that once patrolled there.

Who is the seeker who stands at the door?