Archive for October 9, 2011

Old house, new home – a thriller in verse –

The room has been with tears and silent prayers,
the cries of ill and weakened soon to die
and ticking clocks that stopped the day they’d leave,
of blinded windows during times of grieve.

The cries of ill and weakened soon to die,
while sunlight shone at dying and deceased.
The room embracing families in black
who said goodbyes to those who won’t come back.

And ticking clocks that stopped the day they’d leave
with dancing dust above the coffin’s lid.
But what of this could she have known at all
when entering the house, the room, the hall.

Of blinded windows during times of grieve,
she doesn’t know, so why is it she cries?
There’s sunshine in the room and children play
yet she feels sad in her new home today.

She doesn’t know, so why is it she cries?
She needs to focus on her children’s play.
The family that lived here long ago
had lots of secrets, none for her to know.

There’s sunshine in the room and children play,
so happy they do seem in their new home.
They open cupboard doors, thus finding things
and while they find some treasures, mother sings

yet she feels sad in her new home today,
as if an unseen hand tries smothering her.
The children enter and are full of joy:
behind the cupboard they’ve found one dead boy.

She needs to focus on her children’s play.
“What you have found, is just a doll,” she claims,
“Now mother has to phone, so go upstairs!”
She calls the cops, striking the dead boy’s hairs

The children enter and are full of joy,
as they have such a story for the cops.
The corpse was killed some years ago, they think,
and leave with it. The mother needs a drink.

Behind the cupboard they’ve found one dead boy.
Why in her house? By god, they just moved in!
The doorbell rings, two strangers want to talk,
one pushes her aside and in the room they walk.

Why in her house? By god, they just moved in!
Cops search the place and leave and then come back,
investigations going on all week.
At night she hears the ghosts play hide and seek.

The doorbell rings, two strangers want to talk
again, she’s losing her control and screams,
her son is shocked and runs into the streets,
hit by a car, he then horribly bleeds.

One pushes her aside and in the room they walk.
Her son needs medics soon, or he will die.
Behind the cupboard someone laughs out loud.
What happens next? She just wants to move out.

Her son needs medics soon, or he will die.
The ambulance will take him to first aid.
At home again she bravely doesn’t weep
when in the night she doesn’t dare to sleep.

Behind the cupboard someone laughs out loud:
“It serves you right, disturbing my dear rest!”
the ghost yells, and she says that he is right
and that she won’t be here another night.

What happens next? She just wants to move out
as soon her son is well.  She sells the house.
A fire starts and burns the whole place down.
What ever happened there, in that old town?

Nobody knows. Some stories just don’t tell.

Good Morning

More than this I could not give you, it was all
but not enough for you to stay.
Inadequate my love has been,
when I felt deep, you saw me shallow.

This is my shadow, not myself,
I went unseen a while ago,
when the door was not yet slammed,
but slowly started falling in the lock.

My morning after all the years we had
before, is going well though,
still no tears, no suicidal thoughts
at all. Not many.

The bed, half empty, will be filled once more,
with books and papers, cats and food,
and memories of you in scent.
It all is well, the way it ended.

You went no day too soon.
After the years we had before,
this is the morning after.
There are no tears, and this is hell.

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