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HOUSE (vers. 4)
by Phil WallingHOUSE (vers. 4)
I have a feeling of paranoia,
About this house
Its colours upset me,
And the walls torment me -
There is a sense of premonitions
And of disturbing repetitions.
Where once were gardens and trees
Are the fallen angels of debris
And here lies an abandoned well
With stones and rocks
Surrounded by bushes and a marsh -
A little decrepit shed
Stores a red wheelbarrow.
With half finished shingles
The house perches over a vegetable patch
And boulders, shoulder the road,
This little house of sullen yellow
which sits lonely on a hill.
02/04/2005 Author's Note: Peace
Posted on 02/04/2005
Copyright © 2024 Phil Walling
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Karl Waldbauer on 02/06/05 at 09:43 PM I enjoyed this poem more than I would have thought, with its sense of forboding uneasiness...like the house in the Amityville Horror. Actually, I enjoyed it very much, in deed. |
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