Friday, January 2, 2015

"The Haunted House" by Vic Crume

Not a window was broken
And the paint wasn’t peeling
  Not a porch step sagged - 
  Yet, there was a feeling

That beyond the door
And into the hall
  This was the house of
  No one at all.

No one who breathed
Nor laughed, nor ate
  Nor said “I love,”
  Nor said “I hate.”

Yet something walked
Along the stair
  Something that was
  And wasn’t there.

And that is why weeds
On the path grow high,
  And even the moon
  Races fearfully by –

For something walks
Along the stair - 
  Something that is
  And isn't there.

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