Thursday, November 27, 2014

This House of Dust

I see you approaching, my child,
Your steps hesitant, at first wild
With confidence and youthful vigor.
Now they falter as you come hither
To my house of dust, filled with things old;
She bears a dark story, no doubt told.

Long story short, I'm stuck here for life;
No, stuck here for dead, thanks to that knife.
No one can touch me, no one can see
My full form, I'm but a mystery,
One of many in this house of dust,
Coming to life at approach of dusk.

Now, my child, you stand at my door,
No doubt thinking of what is in store.
I am glad you have visited me,
Though perhaps not through choice, I can see.
So I tell you, my boy, have no fear;
In this house of dust, it's but me here.

Ignore my daughter and her singing.
Ignore my husband and his snoring.
The walls may stare at you if you let
Your mind play tricks on you, and forget
That of myself you have naught to fear;
In this house of dust, you're welcome here.

I see you, my lad, you stand before
This, my room of dust, outside my door.
You mutter to yourself, confidence
Waning still more, fear in dominance.
Come in, I say, I only wish to
Talk, for I have been lonely, to you.

You see me now as you enter here,
And, oh, my child, I see just fear;
In your eyes, in your face. You stand
Frozen in place, torch falling from hand.
I reach towards you, stretch out my arm,
And I tell you I mean you no harm.

You're gone now, my child. Pity, though
You're not the first to leave me, but no,
I'll never forget the cries of fear
From every visitor that's come here.
This house of dust gains just stories of
Horror and fright, but gains no love.

Your torch remains lit, lying on the floor,
Showing pictures of a life lived before.
But it slowly goes out, now only just
Another thing broken in this house of dust.

[Written for a school project. The last stanza is a pentameter (ten to eleven syllables). Everything else is a tetrameter (eight to nine syllables). The rhyme scheme is in couplets (AABB)]

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