There Is No Escape From the House of the Dead

In a barren apocalyptic landscape, under a withered, bare, and grossly malformed weeping willow tree. Lies a lone stone which reads: There is no escape From the house of the dead. The stone, in pristine state, stands as a testament to all who enter there. The interloping tendrils of a wisteria vine, have encircled and strangled all in its path. Except for the stone, which emits an eerie glow, as a lighthouse beacon in a fog laden ether. THERE you will experience true solitude. Approaching closer, you feel the frigid breath of the cemetery breeze, enveloping you and drawing you nearer, t’ward a single oblique whisp of a specter as she floats ominously over the stone. Her once great love left her for dead, and from the depths of sorrow, she acquiesced. Since that day, she has clung to the life she once had. Her happiest days were spent in the garden behind a house where no one else played. Laughing, singing and running with her once great and true love they spent endless days together. Now, in her current form, she lists as she sways, her tattered ghostly shroud swipes against your leg. The window curtains’ lace whips wildly through the night air, flicking against your feet and wakes you sharply from your sleep. Opening your door, as you head down the hall, in the corner of your eye, you spy a translucent figure. Turning to look the shape disappeares. Was this a dream, forebodance, a warning of some future catastrophe? Mark me, and heed these words well......There IS NO ESCAPE FROM THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD. February 21, 2021 Poem written for Constance La France Ghost Poetry contest