HouseA Poem by Lucas Grasha
This old house has bones I don’t know of,
creaks in the floors I can’t recall,
and a few locks with missing keys.
Some of the doors rest upon rusty fragility,
swinging in abandon;
concealing and illuminating.
The empty chambers but catch sunlight from occupied rooms,
their frames seeking
and their curtains embracing the walls.
Operas fill the mahogany,
nail-marks wound the ivory keys--
a faint impression upon a fainting couch.
Some leave behind books of theirs,
paintings from others and paintings unfinished--
there rests a broken easel or two.
Iris colors blend,
their dresses float through the halls at night,
while a perfume bottle mocks from its place upon the mantel.
The paint on these walls starts to wrinkle,
crack and shatter--
a splashing of perfume is in order.
© 2012 Lucas Grasha
Shelved in 1 LibraryAdded on June 15, 2012
Last Updated on June 19, 2012
AboutI've chosen in life to use the pen in place of the sword; or rather, the giving in place of giving up. I believe that I do possess a talent, but that opinion is only mine; if you would please (if you .. more..
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