(This isn't anything from personal experience. It's just about something I learned and decided to write a story/poem about)
This is a mere legend, one that few tell. Of The House, that's silent as a mouse.
One that always has clouds. Above it of course. Dark and grey. It always being the same thing. But it's not a game. For there's nothing to be gained.
The House is evil I tell you, made back in the old witch trails days. Their screams are still there, as they hung high up in the air. Some were children, elderly too. They say at night, when the time is just right. About around this time tonight. 12 o'clock to be precise, when they come out to life. Ready for a big fight. Don't enter dear little ones. For this you will regret. If you go inside, you'll surely be dead. But do not fret, just comprehend. For they do not play, and will not hesitate. The windows are cracked, in little zig-zags. Like their heart, that's concealed in the dark. The wood has been rotted, for this house is centuries old. And yet their story has rarely been told.
The roof has sunk in, water dripping from it. Like the tears from their eyes as they said goodbye. As their necks snapped, they knew they wouldn't come back. And yet the rocking chair rocks, back and forth. If you want. Sit in that chair. Feel the air, throughout your hair. Did they deserve this? No. Innocence were in their eyes, as they pled to save their lifes. Now it's your time. To say goodbye. Heed my warning. This is an evil house. Revenge is their new thirst. So think first. For if you go inside, you'll never return outside.
Dedicated to the women that were hung back in the Salem witch trails
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the heart of Ariel Cross
PoetryThis is a poem. Interpret it as you will. This is all emotions, so don't accuse this of bullying. This poem was made out of past experiences, and is made to stop racism. With that being said, enjoy!
