THE STAIRCASE

THE STAIRCASE

Follow the gargoyles to their master.

Follow the staircase to its source.

Take me down under 

To the darkness in us all.

 

Beneath End House lies the answers

To questions asked from times gone by.

The unearthly dungeons and mazes

Will lead our way through hell and beyond.

 

I know others have gone before me

To the place deep in the earth.

The door will open for me

And no other before or after.

 

Hell has unleashed its prized possessions

To torment the innocent and needy.

Even with their human bodies

They cannot hide forever from my wrath.

 

OUR GAMES HAVE JUST BEGUN

THE DEAD GAME

Source:

THE STAIRCASE

 

I close my eyes to sleep,

and what do I see?

The staircase from my past.

The stairs from my

elementary school.

I can hear children’s voices

as they run up the stairs to classes.

I can hear their shouts

as they run down to the basement for lunch.

But I can’t see their faces.

I can only hear their voices.

All I can see is the empty staircase.

A lone echo of my childhood. 

 

MAKE BELIEVE

  1.  

    MAKE BELIEVE

    The staircase crumbles over time,

    leaving a film of white-out over it all.

    Air whistles through the broken windows,

    a high-pitched moaning sound to my ears.

    Cobwebs catch hold of my hair,

    twirling the strands against my face.

    I climb the creaking stairs to the attic,

    to see what lies behind the peaked window.

    A doll house sized door waits at the top,

    its tiny knob small for my fingers.

    I stoop to enter the round room,

    lit by beams of light from the beveled window.

    A collection of dolls sleep in the morning sun,

    lined up like soldiers around the room.

    Porcelain skin shining white,

    so lifelike in their slumbering pose.

    I reach to touch the Elizabethan girl,

    dressed in a gown of burgundy and lace.

    Skin so soft and warm,

    for a doll created for make believe.

    The room feels even smaller,

    eyes following my every move.

    A movement from the far corner

    catches my roving eye.

    Pinocchio stands up to face me,

    an evil grin across his wooden face.

    He says in a high shrill voice

    as he lumbers on wooden legs to me,

    “Hello, Nice to meet you.

    Time to play our nightly game.”

    Arms and legs come at me,

    a cacophony of sounds hit my ears.

    I go down beneath the dolls,

    now one of their creations of make believe.

    Source:

TIMES GONE BY

TIMES GONE BY

 

 

TIMES GONE BY

Once regal.

Once opulent.

Dancing under crystal chandeliers.

Parties until morning.

Now crumbling.

Falling apart.

Soon to be dust in the wind.

Moments in history.

Never to be heard from again.

A place of desolation.

Of times gone by.

Staircase buried under bricks.

Stairs to nowhere.

For no one.

TAKE ME TO HEAVEN

Take me to heaven.
I am ready.
I am finished.
Time to leave.
This life of strife.
Of sadness.
Of eternal woe.

Let me walk up the stairs.
Hear the sweet music.
And follow the bright light.
Make way for me.
For I am ready.
Ready to leave.
This life for the next.

Take me to heaven.
Where all woes are gone.
Sadness is only but a memory.
Take me through the pearly gates.
I am ready.
For the next stage.

I can hear the music.
I can see the light.
I am climbing the stairs.
No more woe for me.
Only happiness and bliss.

THE HOUSE

phoenix-in-ashes:

THE HOUSE

Enticing.
Dark.
Deserted.
Dusty.
Eerie.
So many words
to describe the house
and the winding staircase.
Afraid.
Alone.
Reluctant.
Uneasy.
Words to describe
how I feel inside
as I enter this house.
I will take it step by step.
One creaky step
followed by another.
Until I make it to the top.
What will I find there?
Creak, creak.
We will find out together.
Creak, creak.
Those weren’t my creaks.
I’m not alone in the house.
I’m leaving.
Bye.

END HOUSE

End House sits alone and deserted.

Its shutters torn and hanging

from its broken windows.

Furniture upended.

Shattered pictures.

Shattered dreams.

What happened to the family

living here?

Open the door.

Walk up the battered staircase.

Past the broken statues.

Where did the family disappear to?

A house ravaged by a storm,

inside and out.

A storm not felt by neighbors

or the nearby town.

What happened here?

THE DEAD GAME

Kindle

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Nook

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THE EMPTY STAIRCASE

I close my eyes to sleep,

and what do I see?

The staircase from my past.

The stairs from my

elementary school.

I could still hear children’s voices

as they run up the stairs to classes.

I hear shouts as they run down

into the basement for lunch.

But I can’t see their faces.

I can only hear their voices.

All I see is the staircase,

waiting for me.

If I go back there, will

the dream go away?

Will new faces and voices

replace the old ones?

I’m too afraid to find out.

I don’t want new nightmares

to pile on top of the old ones.

So I’ll just go to sleep, and

dream about my empty staircase.

HUMAN NATURE

exercicesdestyles:

photo todd eberle
the palace of itamaraty, brasilia
oscar niemeyer, 1970

Why make something simple

as stairs into a complicated statue?

Why create a staircase with twenty steps

when it only requires four steps?

As human beings we love to complicate

everything around us.

We search for the complex solution when

the simple answer is staring us right in the face.

Simple can be just as elegant and rewarding.