Belle Maison
The comforts of home
A house in a hamlet,
Miles away.
Where birds fly overhead,
Blue skies on a good day.
Lavender paper,
and peeling halls.
Built by a man for his family,
Sits four sturdy walls.
Old church beams,
A home given a name.
Cool tiled floors,
And a warm brick frame.
A Father sitting by the window,
reading the paper.
A Mother in the garden,
Saying she’ll be in later.
Fresh mowed grass,
Creaking fir trees,
The smell of elderflower,
on a midsummer breeze.
Down a pebbled road,
And through an oak wood door,
Sits a humble abode,
Waiting there evermore.
About the Creator
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More stories from Charlotte Victoria and writers in Poets and other communities.
Midnight Freight
Eddie Bishop was an unremarkable man, with an unremarkable life. A man of structure and discipline, who'd never achieved anything considered extraordinary or adventurous. An ordinary man you'd see crossing the street. One you may go as far as to call a creature of habit. So how does an ordinary man wind up handcuffed to a metal pipe in a freight train boxcar? This is the question Eddie asked himself, as he came to consciousness and found himself in that exact predicament.
By Charlotte Victoria 3 years ago in Fiction
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