Nearer now
The house is seen
Leering from concealment
Behind dark trees with which
It cloaks itself
The house has
Gathered its army
Slicing waves on the shore
Darkened under clouded skies
Breaking twigs, shout out approach
Something cracks and falls behind
The twilight curtain of branches
Wind moans threats through
Window which long ago
Spat out their last daggers of glass
The last remaining front step
Has splintered and fallen
Since last dared approach
What foul lumbering beast has
Crushed it without dismay
The portal howls and screams at my
Trespass
Air, fouled by vermin and evil
Hateful, fills
Assaulted lungs
The presence beckons
The House’s tangible, beating heart
Speaks malicious black incantations
To hold and keep
In crushing embrace
Its wicked spell shatters
With the new perception of
Of stealthy, creeping approach
Of oily minded monster
Twisted perversion of life
Bursting forth from the prison
To which curiosity nearly trapped
Silent snapping fangs and slashing claws
Which are there, are always there
In boyhood’s delicious imaginings
Ken Goree
The house is seen
Leering from concealment
Behind dark trees with which
It cloaks itself
The house has
Gathered its army
Slicing waves on the shore
Darkened under clouded skies
Breaking twigs, shout out approach
Something cracks and falls behind
The twilight curtain of branches
Wind moans threats through
Window which long ago
Spat out their last daggers of glass
The last remaining front step
Has splintered and fallen
Since last dared approach
What foul lumbering beast has
Crushed it without dismay
The portal howls and screams at my
Trespass
Air, fouled by vermin and evil
Hateful, fills
Assaulted lungs
The presence beckons
The House’s tangible, beating heart
Speaks malicious black incantations
To hold and keep
In crushing embrace
Its wicked spell shatters
With the new perception of
Of stealthy, creeping approach
Of oily minded monster
Twisted perversion of life
Bursting forth from the prison
To which curiosity nearly trapped
Silent snapping fangs and slashing claws
Which are there, are always there
In boyhood’s delicious imaginings
Ken Goree
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