Ghosts in a Haunted House



Neon stars through broken shutters shine
Over warped wood with white pillars of dust
Swirling in the moonlight and the fine
Layers of neglected history.

Broken furniture lays across the floor
Among the scattered plaster of a broken bust,
And there sings a rusted swinging door
A song of forgotten mystery.

Once this house kept a family deep inside,
Known in their time for class and taste;
Ladies groomed with pedigree and pride
And each man groomed by destiny.

This parlor, once a social core,
Shutters in the hateful waste.
The dross and mire and sticky spoor,
Of misbegotten infamy.

If you seek the tale, then follow down
This stream of gossip to its bay
In the poorer section of the town,
Where they still speak of burning misery

That was hidden by a pearly shell,
For this is what their servants say:
That each gate to heaven guards a hell
Of secrets sad and slippery.

What shadows did these lamps once cast?
What words did these walls veil?
What traumas will these floors outlast,
And carry into eternity?

Answers drift down through the dust
Until all is sheathed in moonlight pale,
Or orange with the rooted rust
That coats the living memory.