A film of dust delicately cakes
The oaken shelf,
Reflecting a soft filtered ray
Onto the dim ceiling.

Deep olive curtains
Dye the slightly stale air
To a sluggishly pine-like hue
That resides ever so prominent
On the ambiguous rays’ edges.

The silent air sleeps
And with its vexing stillness,
The slight tinge of a curse
Resonates through
These mahogany walls,
And even down
Those sharply shadowed halls.