The Haunts of Homes

I see shadows wander

in the moon’s soft glow,

a house I’ve stayed in,

where whispers flow.

Its timbers creak

with mournful sighs,

beneath the ebon,

starlit sky.

Within its halls,

I hear echoes roaming,

whispers of the lost,

whispers of home,

ghosts of memories,

ghosts of fear,

dancing in the darkness,

shedding tears.

Each room — a canvas for the past,

where shadows linger,

memories cast,

windows shuttered,

secrets kept,

In this haunted house

where spirits slept.

Footsteps echo down the hall,

a phantom’s touch,

a whispered call,

the walls breathe secrets,

the floors moan,

In this house where

souls alone wreak havoc

on our senses.

Yet in the silence,

there’s a tale

of love and loss that will prevail,

for even in the darkest night,

there glimmers a hope,

a guiding light.

So let the haunting house stand tall,

For in its depths,

there lies it all,

A tapestry of life and woe,

Where spirits wander,

come and go.

Though its walls may

harbor fright,

There’s beauty

in the fading light,

For in this house

of haunting lore,

There lies the key

to so much more.

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Also published on Medium.com