Dust Can’t Hide Everything
I’d heard of all the nights of mystery
but could not be sure how much was true.
Shattered reflections can taint history,
in the still of the night I’ll get my view.
I squeezed in through a narrow gate
unheard and undetected,
now on the grounds of this crumbling estate
abandoned, no longer protected.
The hedges were once its crowning glory
maintained with meticulous care.
Years of neglect project a far different story,
they grow to any height that they dare.
The fountain in the center courtyard is dry,
the marble figure covered in crust.
The valiant weathervane stationed on high
no longer rotates, due to its rust.
Under long grass in the croquet court
the wickets remain, though not seen.
Folks who once pursued this genteel sport
found it both challenging and serene.
The grand oaken doors, their luster long gone,
tell a tale of all that had passed through.
The pond once guarded by an ornery swan
is grown over and no longer blue.
I tested the brass handle in hopes to gain entry,
to my surprise no lock was engaged.
With all of this grandeur, there once was a sentry
to provide access when visitors paged.
I was saddened to know that there was no invitation needed
to pass into these once opulent halls.
With just daring and the turn of old brass, I succeeded,
gaining entry inside these long standing walls.
Discolored spots on the walls caught my eye
where fine paintings once hung in pride.
Dust covered sheeting sought to deny
exquisite furniture fabrics it managed to hide.
The crystal chandelier still refracted moon light
bursting through semi-circular windows aloft
I figure at midday, flickering glints must be bright,
by evening the reflected patterns turn soft.
The circular staircase of serpentine form
had to be a width of at least ten feet wide.
Although a mansion, it was well past the norm,
enormous banisters would steady and guide.
Guilt now crept over me as I stood at the base
of these stairs, leading to the private domain,
at the top landing I could almost picture the face
of the matriarch, all contorted in pain.
As the story is told, she took her last breath
after watching her husband depart under cover,
hurling herself from that landing to a horrible death,
for she knew he had taken a young lover.
The echoes of this grim tale turned me around
telling me that to venture further would be wrong.
I let myself out, my ears rang with the sound
of her wailing scorn’s damnation song.
Submitted for the 'Multi' challenge...Nights of Mystery/In The Still Of The Night/Shattered Reflections
By AlwaysMyWords
© 2008 AlwaysMyWords
(All rights reserved)
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