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A poem using imagery to describe a scene |
They were only kids, says the unbroken twigs that Lay on the path, trampled but intact. There were Three of them, says the pairs of footprints squished into The blackened mud. But, they were afraid, says the beams of light That trembled as they illuminated the rotting porch. Their backpacks say they came prepared, stuffed with Packaged food and their parent’s cameras. The house was Ready for them, says the stairs that creaked in welcome. A woman used to live here, says the faded patterns of Roses embellishing the door frame. She was old and Frailer than paper, says the rusted walker lurking in the hall. She had passed long ago, says the billowing veil in front of her Decaying portrait. Nobody dared come here now, says the undisturbed Carpet of dust. Nobody except the kids here now, says the door as it Sends the carpet spiraling in the air. The house wanted some company, Says the forgotten furniture that lay hidden under heavy tarps. The kids weren't the only ones in the rotting house, says the Echos of creaking floorboards. Something still lived here, says The newly polished porcelain doll that watched the kids walk by. The house was not the only one that had been lonely, says the wailing Wind coming through the shattered windows. They had ways to Make them stay, says the door as it nestled firmly back into place. Come play with us, says the curtains as they brushed their arms and grabbed their legs. You have to play. You have to stay. |