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The old manor had red stone bricks covered in climbing vines,
and columns and facades in dazzling swirls;
it was classical architecture with intricate lines,
a treasure in the middle of no where, I pondered touching my pearls;
I knocked on the door, so scared my straight hair curls.

It slowly opens, creaking on rusty hinges-  and I step inside,
seeing grand chandeliers of leaded glass crystal lights;
sparkling and shimmering, they had been on, right? I lied,
portraits watched me as I walked around looking at the sights;
for sure those portraits were of the long dead-  hello, I loudly cried.

Was this place vacant, maybe even haunted, this I could not ignore, 
gone to waste and ruin, with no one living here any more; 
for leaves had blown in under the ornate front door.

I had seen a sign "Rooms For Rent" nailed to a tree,
just before my car had crashed into a ditch;
driving through the rain had been a big mistake I now see,
but, I needed shelter for day had turned to pitch;
dark and as I walked the road I hoped they had tea.

Now, I stood dripping wet in this room from the past, 
hello, I whispered  and jumped when a male voice spoke;
from behind me-   the man was old with eyes vast;
we have been waiting he said, let me show you to a room, his voice a choke,
it was a horrible night of weeping and creaking and I could not last.

I run down the road from that house-   forevermore, forevermore   . . .

_________________________
January 6, 2019


Poetry/Rhyme/The Manor House
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1101-590-02
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudonym.


Written for the contest, 'One Night In a Haunted Manor'
sponsor, Tania Kitchin

Fifth Place

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