Tristan Robert Lange


It was a home,

A lovely, warm home,

Never just a house,

That was built here.


A small, quaint home,

Made with brick, mortar,

Blood, tears and sweat,

For life and love.


Over some time,

The home grew larger,

Expanding far

Beyond a dream.


The unit for two

Grew to three and four,

A legacy that

Was built on love.


Like all things new,

The home aged in time.

The hallways became

Troubled chambers.


Time went beyond

The returning point,

The place had changed

From home to house.


Its floors were cracked,

Walls in disrepair,

The house of love

Was abandoned.


Hallways haunted

With what used to be,

The house of brick

Became granite.


The expansion

Continued onward,

Brick upon brick.

Death became it.


Like necrosis

Hell spread rampantly

From limb to limb

Within the house.


The hearth grew cold,

Each dying ember

Led to the spread

Of icy cold air.


The cracks agape

Welcome frigid air,

Painting the house

With glass-like ice.


The winds howl within,

This haunted abode.

The icicles

Form jagged teeth.


The house is now

A mausoleum,

Haunted within

By memories.


What was isn’t

And shall never be.

The tomb’s phantoms

Haunt every hall.


Each closet filled,

With strung skeletons,

Dangling from rope

Made in despair.


  • SoulMeetsBody

    Interesting concept! Reminds me of a much bleaker version of the lyrics of To Build A Home - the themes of a home disintegrating are subtler, yet still there. Hope you like the song. -

    • Tristan Robert Lange

      Yes, indeed. Thanks for sharing the song and for commenting!

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