The House of Mine

Babin Shrestha

The house of mine, all filled with wine
Surrounded by vines, with no straight line

Days so gray, inside so gloomy
Nights so dark, not much so roomy
With walls so black, the deep halls darkening
Shadows arise as the day is dying
Shadows arise as I see them moving
Shadows arise as I see them moving
Toward me I see from the corners of my eyes
The candlelight flickers as it dyes
I strike as a match to arouse a spark
A spark, a spark so little but dark
Till the last of the roses burns my fingers
Still feeling an uninvited guest lingers
Inside the house: a mansion of mine
With deep dark halls surrounded by a vine

That night in the house covered with a vine
That has deep dark rooms where creatures dine
I hear footsteps from upstairs
Chills run through my toes straight to my hair
Walking slowly and quietly as I fear
I scuttle to the attic where the sound is near

There lies the door that runs to the attic
I hear it moving frantically
Upstairs, in the attic, where it’s shrieking
Creaking the floor boards as it’s creeping
Jumping a leap back I began screaming
I stopped to realize I was cracking

I slowly opened the door and ‘creek’ went the sound
I moved one stair at a time as I was bound
To see what it was as I had enough
Of the ghostly sound that came from above.