The House on the Hill
May the ghost there rest in peace
The House on the Hill
It stands alone, with crooked grace,
Its windows blind, its porch askew,
The path is cracked with moss and time,
And whispers linger where they grew.
They say no one has lived there since,
The war had taken what it gave,
But light still flickers once a year,
Across the yard, beyond the grave.
I went one night when moon was thin,
My lantern low, my courage thin,
The door was open just enough,
To let the shadows wander in.
Inside the dust lay thick and pale,
Each room a ghost of what had been,
A clock still ticked without a hand,
And time stood watching, lean and thin.
Upstairs a lullaby took form,
A woman’s hum, so faint, so near,
I turned to run, but heard her say,
“You shouldn’t be the one to fear.”
And in the dark I saw her eyes,
Soft as sorrow, calm as rain,
She smiled once and disappeared,
And left me never whole again.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
Keep reading
More stories from Marie381Uk and writers in Poets and other communities.
My New Book is Finally Here
My poetry collection Beautiful and Brutal Things is done. It's actually done and finally published over 270 pages. Over a year of my life went into this book. More than a year, really. Long days at my computer, sometimes seven days a week because I couldn't stop even when I probably should have. Then two months of editing that felt harder than the writing itself. But it's finished, and I'm still standing, and the book is real.
By Tim Carmichael5 days ago in BookClub
Comments (1)
Beautiful and solemn at the same time. Good job.