Necronicon
The house behind the trees lay still,
A monster, in its sleep,
The shutters fell in tatters, lay
In shards there, at its feet.
The paint had gone, one hundred years
Since proud, it gleamed on high,
The Keep, the Tower, Necronicon
Had seemed to sweep the sky!
But deep within its weathered gloom
A heart beat, faintly heard,
Some dim and evil echo that
The world outside had purged,
The door swung on a single hinge
And vegetation lay
Across the rotting carpets that
Had served it, yesterday!
While in some dim-lit parlour
Sat an old man in a chair,
Surrounded by the ghosts of those
Who were no longer there.
He sat beguiled by phantoms who
Assailed him in the gloom,
While memories of women, spat,
Rained curses on his tomb.
But in an upper bedroom sat
A girl who longed to play,
Who'd lost her parents, and her home,
Had shrugged, but come to stay.
Her grandfather, the only sire
This pampered girl had got,
She sat before the cobwebbed glass,
And plotted, this Charlotte!
She had the evil eye of him
Who sat down in that chair,
For blood is blood, and evil is
The product of despair,
Her mother disappeared when she
Was no more than a child,
And she had worn her father down,
By inches, running wild!
The old man laid the law down,
Sat her, facing down his stare,
She had the arrogance of youth
And shrugged, she didn't care,
She took his money, wasted it
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poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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