Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Chancery Hill

The house on the hill
Stands silent and still

Its front door is locked
But its backdoors wide open.

No one lives there
Only I seem to care

August trees stand watch over the house
Vines cling and embrace its pillars

The hum of crickets fill the humid air
A little gecko looks warily and waits.

Old cupboards sit with dusty dresses
And shelves with musty books

The kitchen sink is filled with black china
Blacken by age


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