Beyond the gate
Lies the path
That no one walks
That time forgot
All footprints now
Since washed away
By passing seasons
Years gone astray.
Windows of
The cottages face
Like staring eyes
Lost to fate
Its broken door
Rusted hinges swing
In Summer breeze
And Winters chill.
Passing children
Dare one another
To approach
All gripped in fear
They say its haunted
Ghosts and ghouls
No one to go there
Except a fool.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: April 4th, 2026 01:35
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
Thank you N. Or would we like to look inside - atmospheric, nostalgic, curious, etc? We've an old house a couple of miles from us, all disused now.
And - does the No.4 bus route go near that house?! lol.
THE NO 7 avoids it but the no 6 shoots past fast lol
Oh I see! lol. Now if the bus takes us there, how we gonna get in the house, if it's the path no one walks? Have to walk across the lawn to get to the door. lol.
you can go first I will wait at bus stop to see IF you return lol
The first ghost story was written by a man called HUGO FIRST lol
Ahh lol.
Norman I think that most children had such a house in their childhood neighborhood. We did but also a metaphor for alienation as we age. Nicely written it presents vivid images and leaves a feel of loneliness. Very nicely written
thanking you , always appreciated. yes I tried to have a dual purpose to it the alienation of age and childhood memories of such a house
You are most welcome Norman
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