The House On The Hill

Bleak, the naked
     windswept lanes,
Lashing skin,
    unforgiving rains

Drenching tatty,
     flapping drapes
In a flurry
     of flightless capes.

And aged eyes
     of darts and stares
Catch new lovers
     unawares,

Flitting from sky
     to window frame,
Dashing with
     their hearts aflame.

Inside, outside
     and under eaves,
Upturned collars
     and soaken sleeves,

Seeking shelter
     from heaven's spill,
Beckoned by
     the house on the hill.

Warmly wafts
     to welcome them
With lamplit porch
     and lacey hem,

Wry smiles
     and buttered toast,
Courtesy of
     the resident ghost.

Old lady, with your
     heart that bleeds,
Dweller in your
     loveless needs,

Lonely in your
     shadowy niche,
What trickery will your
     soul unleash?

Jealous shadows,
     creaking floors
Opening windows
     and slamming doors,

Trapped young hearts
     lay at your feet,
To beat no more
     their wreckless beat.

Seething, writhing,
     crimson drips,
Sweetly tasted
     on bitter lips,

Beside their lifeless
     essence rise
With mouths aghast
     and fading eyes.

The clock ticks,
     the hours pass,
Silence befalls,
     in dreams, at last,

No murderous widow,
     their lives, could take
Nor break their hearts
     before they wake.

Stretching limbs
     and sunkissed yawn
A sigh of relief,
     a welcomed dawn,

To wander life
     as wise old fools,
To knock death's door
     before death calls.

Frail, in cumbersome,
     aging skin,
Where no more passion
     beats within

A little old couple,
     with time to ****
Make their home
     in the house on the hill.

© RJVHorton2015