Poetry Chapbook 04

Lament of the Haunted House


I’ve trod the halls of threadbare carpets
walked the stairs of splintered wood;
tapped my way across the kitchen quarries
nowhere here has brought me good.

I can see some people walking (have they come to stay?)
I can hear some people talking (I can guess what they will say)
I can smell the fires burning (will the house be warm at last?)
I can feel my stomach churning (will the open up the past?)

So many years I've lived alone here
without a soul to offer speech -
just the folk who crowd the parlour
ones where colour turns to bleach.

I can see a man unpacking (why so many books?)
I can touch the wire racking (who could ever drink the wine?)
I can hear a lady crying (has she really lost her looks?)
I can feel a child dying (She's the image of the daughter mine)

Perhaps the day has come in dust in twilight
in time to open doors a long way back
letting out the guilt of ages
bringing in the hope I lack.

for the Poetic Asides prompt day 4