The grandfather clock

 

The grandfather clock

in the hall

had stopped

so long ago.

So why then,

can I hear ticking?

Echoing.

Reverberating from the walls.

Time has stood still

for an eternity,

so, what has breathed life

into this expired flat air?

I feel a tug of uncertainty,

or is it a tinge of fear?

 

This house has been neglected

for so long.

The air stagnant 

with the bitter taste

of dead memories.

The brickwork bare,

paint; patchy and crumbling,

Dust and cobwebs fill the air.

The place is beyond repair.

So why is air now breathing

through its corridors?

Its grand halls now sounding full,

when before the silence would kill.

The ambience so dull.

 

This building

a derelict relic

of a bygone age.

Weather stained,

woodwork warped out of shape.

So why now does colour

bleed into these walls?

When before they were just

greying yellow stained air,

Now the halls are vibrant.

Highlighting the wonder

and beauty inside them.

 

This place a disgrace of torn pages,

Old dusty papers, books and letters.

Memories,

piled precariously.

Haphazard gangways

through this wild paper maze.

So why now is everything in place?

The surfaces clear,

shelving furnished,

with everything staged alphabetically.

Perfectly lined up. Not a book out of place.

Not a smudge of dust on a single worktop,

everything is as it should be.

How and why is this happening to me?

 

 

Thanks for reading

Endless Nightmares out now

300 pages of horror themed poetic storytelling

 https://amzn.to/42H2OGw

Please take a look at my previous collection "Torn Pages"

100+ all new poems not shared here before.

https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle