Lightless denizen

“A House stands upon a shady hill...”

Like a lady in waiting. Like a child still born. Like the cries one would hear from a doll gagged and scorned.

And in it's parlor built for song and dance. Rots a dance floor. None ever got the chance.

Like the nursery built for a suckling son.

Saw the sun shine never on a living one.

Was too shady. For lady. For garden. For love. So forlorn was its story. Think cursed from above.

From its Yves to its Gables.

And rocking less cradle.

Sits an illness. A stillness.

Unholy. Death labeled.

That gaze. You dared not.

A malaise I now share. Wearing a thousand mile stare. So say my thoughts.

Like a corpse caught, In the hangman's frayed knot.

Yet still plenty hemp strands.

To send any ill man.

To the boat man. Two silver.

Wind not.

(Picture a man choking to death? Just as I’d thought)

Would you dare spend a night?

Holed up in this haunt?

Do I dare? Whilst I write?

As the Shadow grows closer I fight.

The urge to take flight.

From my penance. My plight.

To be silenced by the featureless.

Night.