Strayed
You swore you’d only trace one line—
But footsteps slip when shelves entwine.
A turn too soon, a step too wide,
And now the shelves don’t match the guide.
The maps have blurred. The ink won’t dry.
A whisper laughs from books nearby.
The floor still holds. The air still breathes.
But something dances in her eaves.
No malice here, no cruel design—
Just stories eager to entwine.
The tomes have waited, long and still,
And now they move to match your will.
A title changed. A stair misplaced.
A hallway stretched. A trail erased.
And though you swore you’d marked your way,
Perhaps you’re right where stories play.
She twists and tests and laughs in rhyme.
And warps her walls to suit her time.
Still you feel no urge to run,
The Archive’s game has just begun.
You may stray—just not too far.
She’s most fond of those who chase her star.
