Staircase

Steep and narrow were the creaky steps
wrapped in a foundation old as taps.
The plaster mixed with horse hair and time,
once upon the sun did brightly shine.
Now an interior wall, it stands,
where fugitive flies in springtime land.
Facing North was made a white wood door
into the wall raised above the floor.
When Lincoln blows a strong summer breeze
it rattles the frame, slamming with ease.
Step through and you do come to a view
of the stairs that rake you up to two -
a fork with danger hidden from you.
No sign or marking to give a clue.
The haunting feelings are nothing new.
Will ever the evil here undo?