Black House

By
Christopher J. Thomasson

Once you’re here,
You can’t escape,
This black house.
The walls breathe,
Pulsing rhythmically
Silently,
To the sounds
Of the fearful heart.
Don’t whisper,
Don’t speak a word,
Everything you say,
Is etched within
This black house.
Pictures adorn these walls,
Watching every more,
Recording every sound,
Reliving every life.
Centuries old,
This black house,
Has a history
To tell.
Spirits walk the halls,
Phantasms creak the stairs,
Ethereal voices,
Speak sinister secrets
To any that will hear.
Don’t lock the doors,
Don’t close the blinds,
Madness overcomes,
The weakest minds
While death follows
Close behind,
In this
This blackest of houses.
Everyone knows,
The house
In which I speak.
There’s one in every city,
Every town,
It’s just down the street.
You hurled stones
Through its windows,
Dared your friends
To knock on the door.
Everyone has
A haunted house,
Where is yours?

The End

Copyright May 2001 by Christopher J. Thomasson