The House On the Hill

The House On The Hill Bleak, the naked windswept lanes, Lashing skin, unforgiving rains Drenching tatty, flapping drapes In a flurry of flightless capes. And aged eyes of darts and stares Catch new lovers unawares, Flitting from sky to window frame, Dashing with their hearts aflame. Inside, outside and under eaves, Upturned collars and soaken sleeves, Seeking shelter from heaven's spill, Beckoned by the house on the hill. Warmly wafts to welcome them With lamplit porch and lacey hem, Wry smiles and buttered toast, Courtesy of the resident ghost. Old lady, with your heart that bleeds, Dweller in your loveless needs, Lonely in your shadowy niche, What trickery will your soul unleash? Jealous shadows, creaking floors Opening windows and slamming doors, Trapped young hearts lay at your feet, To beat no more their wreckless beat. Seething, writhing, crimson drips, Sweetly tasted on bitter lips, Beside their lifeless essence rise With mouths aghast and fading eyes. The clock ticks, the hours pass, Silence befalls, in dreams, at last, No murderous widow, their lives, could take Nor break their hearts before they wake. Stretching limbs and sunkissed yawn A sigh of relief, a welcomed dawn, To wander life as wise old fools, To knock death's door before death calls. Frail, in cumbersome, aging skin, Where no more passion beats within A little old couple, with time to kill Make their home in the house on the hill. © RJVHorton2015