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Robin A Spicer

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Member Since: Oct, 2002

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The House
by Robin A Spicer

Monday, April 21, 2003

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           >> View all 100

Vibrations of the past

He paces endless on the stair,
A shadow, of what he has been.
Cold and dark in his despair,
Doesn't know, he can't be seen.

Within the hall, she hurries by
Unfinished errand, must be done.
Noiseless whispers, spectral sigh,
She never greets the morning sun.

Silent screams within the room,
Drunken blows on tender skin,
Rending, tearing, sounds of doom,
Yet with the dawn, no sign of sin.

A smiling face, within the wall,
She reaches out with trembling hand.
The innocent smile, replaced by a pall,
The child exists in another land.

So as the cold and clammy night,
Invades my senses, one by one,
The past parades before my sight,
Then I sleep, escape to the sun.

Much has gone within these walls,
Joy does not linger to cheer the night.
Only fear, beckons and calls,
Revealing past horrors, to our sight.

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Reviewed by Gracie McKeever 4/26/2003
Excellent poem; love the flow, and your descriptions evoke.
Reviewed by Sandie Angel 4/21/2003
Very good description.

Sandie Angel :o)
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