Get Rid Of The Advertisements

Echoes of emptiness.
Brown velvet curtains that hang to the ground
Hallways that echo with soft whispered sound,
Dark embossed wallpaper blackened with mould
Long shadow fingers reach out to enfold.

Holes in the skirting boards twinkle with eyes
Whiskers are twitching in startled surprise,
Barely heard footsteps are lost in the gloom
And die in the slow beating heart of the room.

Cobwebs that hang from the old ceiling light
Moonlight through muslin pervading the night,
Faces that peer through a portrait of grime
Are blinded and blank in expressionless time

Floorboards that creak with the burden of years
Balustrades rise from the foot of the stairs,
Oak panelled landings and glass chandeliers
Soft ghostly weeping that nobody hears.

Faded blue paint on the nursery door
Rocking chair stands on the old dusty floor,
Moving in time to a nursery rhyme
Born from the mist of an earlier time.

Down the old staircase and straight up the hall
Echoed behind me a child’s fading call,
Into the garden and opened the gate
Time to go home for the evening was late.

Turned up my collar to keep out the rain
Trickling like tears down the old window pane,
I thought I imagined the faint ghostly cries
Of a song of regret when a house slowly dies…

By 33whitby4654

© 2019 33whitby4654 (All rights reserved)


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