The Old Stone House

 

The Old Stone House

 

The old stone house is warned against,

One is advised to go in company.

The old stone house lives on the disused lane,

Though which is the product of the other,

None can say.

A vexation is set on this tired abode,

An agitation and a restlessness,

Uneasiness permeates,

An ambience of unrest.

The walls are bleeding.

The walls are bleeding people.

Captured impressions out of time,

Echoing lost moments,

Attempts at changing

What has already been.

Such sad existence:

Life without life.

What doom has pinned them here?

What release can be had?

Were this structure razed,

Could they be let go,

Unbound now,

Released and relieved,

To finally move on?

Or would they be carted with the refuse,

Infused and incorporated,

To be buried deep,

And reaching out,

To those things that live in the soil?

The walls are bleeding.

The walls are bleeding people.

What fate binds them?

Do they think or feel?

Or were their former owners

So strong in spirit

That these impressions remain?

Were their last moments so distressed,

That some of their life impacted this stone,

A dim reminder

Of lives unrecorded,

Save in this gauzy disquietude.

The old stone house,

Is a memory of forgotten lives,

Best left to find their way home,

Unless,

This is all the home left to them,

Or is the trap,

They set upon themselves.

Linger too long,

And you may return…

Long life to you reader,

Long life.

 

Cliff Lake 1/18/2024

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024