Haunted house: A poem 

Posted bymontecyrilPosted inUncategorized

Barren is its court 

Worn is its coat 

Smokeless is its chimney 

Its door has no lock or key 

Its painless eyes 

go numb to the skies 

The roof is still tiled 

But its fence is a pile 

Kids are kept away 

from its unearthly grey 

What transpires in its hall? 

Place an ear to the wall 

They say it is haunted 

Its cold look is daunting 

But for the sceptical me 

it is still a mystery… 

Published by montecyril

Hi, I am Monte Cyril Rodrigues and live in Melbourne, Australia. I am a retired journalist. I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia. I've had voices and visions all my life. I think it is a spiritual experience, my doctors think otherwise. I am a deeply spiritual person and keep having experiences with otherworldly realms.

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