The imagery of a lonely old house always grabs me. I take pictures of them when I see them. And they often put in an appearance in my writing. Here’s a case in point.
Towering, it stands.
Long driveway
spirals down
the hill.
Forbidding, it sits
on Grecian
poles.
Dark
and lonely
are its windows.
Who walked
its once lovely
halls?
Who, now, haunts
these battered
walls?
Trapped
forever
in loneliness,
and must.
Pity,
I feel for
he, who
haunts
this House.