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
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