I had been sent to write a report
Upon the old music hall
Having been allowed inside the dilapidated building
I sat alone in the front of the stalls
I put up my travelling writing table
Laying note book and pen on the top
It just hadn't seemed right somehow
To bring along the laptop
Sitting back to savour the atmosphere
I smelt the dust in the worn velvet seats
In my minds' ear, I could hear
The master's overloud voice
Using long, complicated words
To introduce each act
As if he had swallowed a dictionary
I heard old songs, so simple and sweet
And the laughter at the comical turns
I saw the gaudy costumes
Seeming to shine in the footlights
I gasped at the magician small conjuring tricks
And I would have sworn that the ventriloquist's dummy
Could really talk back
It was in that moment, I realised
All the pleasures I'd just enjoyed
Had all been in my imagination
Smiling to myself at my foolishness
I reached for my notebook and pen
When to my amazement
The pen rose in the air
It hovered for a moment over the pad
Before writing these following few words
'We were here'.
Marilyn Shepperson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-s-no-such-thing-as-ghosts/
