House of Horrors
On a hill stood the mansion,
with a landscape that looked neglected
and too frail to mention,
The entrance was winding,
missing the tiles that used to adorn,
The cascading vines looked droopy and
forlorn,
Inside, the floor boards were shaky
and the furniture heavily laden with dust,
the particles were so think,
Their formations were like crust,
The chandelier swung eerily from its
socket,
On one of its tiers hung a discarded
locket,
Enclosed was a picture of the Belle of the
house, who died, frightened by a displaced
mouse......,
The cobwebbs were still lingering in her parlour,
where she sung and played the piano,
All throughout the house her serenades were heard,
The attic was inhabited by birds,
They all flittered away once the attic door was opened,
The stained glass windows seemed to emanate shadows,
squirling around behind the scenes,
The creaking of the floors conjured up nightmares or
overactive dreams,
When the closets were opened, blood poured like a bubbling river,
causing the tourists to shake and shiver,
It all seemed to be a bit much, when the comb started dancing with the
brush,
The house was vacated in less than a minute,
leaving only a mute standing cluelessly in it.
Copyright © Margeret Bailey | Year Posted 2010
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