Sitting is this lonely building,
The quiet emptiness around me echoes
With the lost sounds of playing children.
Its halls bustle with the ghosts
Of long forgotten residents.

The creeping darkness that surrounds me
Shuts everything out.
I sit in the corner of the room with my torch
And read an old book that I found on the shelf,
Worn from years of hands turning pages
And yellow from age.

As I sit here in the blissful nothingness,
I wish for nothing other
Than to be in my quiet solitude
For the rest of time itself.