the deserted house
slowly swallowed by the ground
encircled in dread and depression
abandoned
haunted now by solitude
…no one comes or goes
irrelevant to all but me
doors wide open
as if to say “please enter”
always the same
nothing to find, nothing to see
all rooms vacant except the one
locked…
entrance forbidden
no key ever found
I sit and stare
imagining what exists within
perhaps a present wrapped in pretty paper
with blue ribbons tied in bows
gifted to one who left this life before their time
maybe the key was grief
taken with those who moved on from this place
those who could no longer bear the loneliness
so I return from time to time
to that same hallway
sitting and wondering who slept behind that door
are they still here?
does my vigilance bring any comfort?
no voices
just dead silence
mortality suddenly becomes real
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Comments3
Metaphor for sure in this write. A lovely work that details death itself. A grave that no one visits a dead person no one knows a mystery without a key.
Thanks for the read and comments! I appreciate you.
Most welcome Katdream
Every house has a story, maybe not to the passer by, but definitely to the one who enters it.
The house stares death, leaving more questions than answers.
Thank you for the read and comments! Much appreciated!
An enjoyable Read . Shades of Poe throughout.
A fine write.
Thank you Kevin. I appreciate the read and comments!
My Pleasure.
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