Listen to poem:
Haunted House
Shutters hang askew, redeeming guilt with two-way sighs,
Confessing what your forgotten vows and phantom memories deny.
Ivy throttles the porch in a desperate, strangling embrace,
hinting at peril in the wall's disheveled pale face.
The rank dark garden pond’s gaze reflects no pulse of sky,
it's a black, unblinking pupil that won't blink or die.
Window curtains quiver and sway where no breeze dares.
Echoes of stalking footsteps persist when climbing stairs.
Shadows crouch and slither beneath each creaking beam,
they shift when you look away — they're not what they seem.
This house harbors the twilight between dream and waking,
where spooky creaks unravel the curse in its undertaking.
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