A House Aground

This is another poem involving loss/dark imagery

A red rug laid upon the terrace

trapped in a chamber of mirrors, spinning like a Ferris

red carpet melts to brown,

dirt crumbling from the ceiling, leaving a colossal mound,

a matte black lake, three crows, and a house aground,

dark, rotted, wooden beams that hold quite unsound,

scriptures carved in stone hold so much heart

natures vengeful touch soon tore them apart

but her voice sings through broken windows

two birds sat atop a tree singing deaths song, twin crows

ones wing maltreated, holding two blows

yet they sing the same tune nonetheless,

all until they heard a mistress in distress

the first crow flies in a swift bolt

the second attempts ascension but is met with a swift halt,

he crashes to earth but ‘tis flight he sought,

the mistress cries from the heart of the house

deep down inside, her only pal’s a mouse,

while the bird still plummets down to a lake of black,

dirty, stagnant water grabs it with vice grip, attached

it’s pulled to the bottom, where the maiden lays lone

a brown rug draped across the floor where black mold has grown,

the bird glances around but to hear not a sound,

alone in a room with a brown rug, 6 feet underground

Author's Note

if there's any grammatical errors and or formatting errors please let me know.