Behind the Painting

Standing at the entrance he hears the warning

Wrought across the wooden planks of the stair

 He can sense all the vile beasts that are spawning

Behind the antique door should he dare.

He still walks across the dampened floor

Stepping over the ashes still in bloom

Ignores the crashing of the door

That seals him in his own tomb

There are no more rescues on his breathe

For him to murmur in despair

Of all the things created after death

Mercy is not there.

For four nights he stays within these walls

To prove what is already known

That this place breathes where insanity falls

No human record may be shown

He searches in vain for they who wonder

To capture their spirit for a second

He watched, waits and always will ponder

Why silence when they are beckoned?

But it is the night where they murder them all

When you close your eyes after night blinds through

When between the universe and sleep you fall

They are there above you.

He drifts away after a fruitless night

Of nothing more than whispers on the deck

Within these walls they hold on tight

To the rope hanging around their neck

His eyes they fault and flutter

And the stars do disappear

And then in the distance the unholy mutter

“he sleeps in time in line with fear”

I may have known them once before

Here they found a home to stay

Memories of family I still adore

When washing away the blood they pay

Now they dwell behind the painting

Hanging on top of the fire

Of a family with their father still waiting

For the light to dim and expire

His eyes grow dark and bold

His hands move like a blade

The act is from the horror of old

The stories that nightmares were made.

Trapped they are as they resent

The sleeping man who shines brighter

His life burns fiercely in their lament

And the rope pulls tighter

Across the floor boards they slink

Their mockery of life drags over the stain

The reality of the room begins to sink

Madness fills their eyes with light again

Over his bed and standing by his toes

Watching his body move with error

To the rhythm that only madness knows;

as the life shortly before the terror.

Around his neck the noose pulls tight

And strung to the roof his life is curbed

Above the universe he loses the fight

To the specters that have been disturbed

All I can hear is the sound

Of his feet bashing against the wall

And blood falling on the ground

Where he should not have entered at all.

                                                               

Curiosity killed the reason of another man

On the ground where insanity stood

Just because you may dream doesn’t mean you can

Conquer the house in the wood.

Tiffany Douglas May 2014