A DUSTY BOOK

I sometimes feel
Evening shadows call
My mind away
To distant halls
That dwell within
An inbetween
Of what is dream
And what is real.

A dusty book
Upon a shelf
A forgotten room
Within itself
The smell of ink
The tainted page
Invisible hands
That left their stain.

An empty house
With corridors long
Faraway footsteps
A womans song
Float idle in
A dreamy air
Was it real
Or was I there ?