They rest in darkness—idle art;
These relics worn, a faded past.
Spirits rising from stone impart
Tales of lore stirring aghast.
The halls are closed, no one about;
Specters born of ancient rock.
Museum shut, but without a doubt,
Shadows there begin to flock.
From Buddha with a missing head,
And bodistava that has no arms.
Apparitions of long time dead
Arise in pitch with ghostly charms.
They wander through the blackened halls;
Smoke rising from a hidden flame.
Demons ascend when darkness calls;
Loosed from artifacts without shame.
Before the dawn and coming light,
Phantoms return to their hidden way.
Statues still after haunting night;
Museum ready for business day.
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Submission Name: Nighttime in the AAM
