I knew before I crossed the gate
that something watched me near -
a crawling cold that gripped my neck
and whispered You belong here.
I found the house upon the hill
where no warm lantern glows;
its windows stared like eyeless masks
that marked me as it knows.
The wind, a ragged, feral thing,
clawed shingles from its bone;
it slithered down the chimney throat
and loosed a hollow moan.
Beneath the boards, a restless sound
kept step with every breath -
a measured scrape, a dragging hush,
a lullaby of death.
No door I touched would close for me
without a splintered sigh,
and every stair sank underfoot
as though it meant to die.
The shadows learned my body’s shape
and traced my frightened skin;
they gathered close and leaned to hear
the trembling fear within.
I should have fled that crooked gate
as dusk bled into swoon,
but something held me listening still
beneath the blackened moon.
And now I know the hunger there -
a silence never fed -
not for the flesh of passing souls,
but those who stay and should have fled.
GBS jr
2013
0 Comments