The Mansion in the Woods

The bitter light of morning filters through unclean drapes

Casting sunlit dust upon the already blanketed floor

One shoe disturbs the silence, tracing runes in the filth

Two eyes search the soul of the empty room

Seeing forgotten figures of happiness, contentment,

Notches in the doorway where this happiness grew up

Hushed rustles caress a pair of ears

Straining to hear what was never said

They hear all too well the aching quiet

Imposing furniture, once softened with the bodies of others

Hold open their worn arms for just one more embrace

A single touch sparks a light, refilling the room

An ancient beauty sprawls across acres, a woman sprawled

Attractively across a bed, beckoning with a wooden finger

"We'll take it," they say, "This house is perfect for us."