The Creaking Place

I step and the floorboard snaps—

a sudden crack through silent gaps.

Like a fault line underfoot,

a fissure stretched beyond the soot.

Warped wood groans beneath my weight,

dust motes float, hesitate.

The morning light through cracked small panes

fills that hollow with old pains.

Frozen, I wait, the world on edge,

secret caught on timber’s ledge.

Sneaking turned to halted breath—

the floorboard knows my quiet theft.