HOUSE ON THE HILL

There's a house upon a hilltop
Where abhorrent shadows play,
Where nothing decent is found
And nothing living would ever stay.

A house that has known better days
And much better nights as well,
Where angels surely fear to tread
And only loveless memories dwell.

A house in a quiet corner of Hell
At least that's what passersby all say,
Where the Godly hurry off in fear
And even the Godless scurry away.

A place where the heartbroken lived
Until their dry bones turned to dust,
Where gleaming chandeliers once hung
Their burnished metal turned to rust.

A place where evil phantoms roam
Within the loathsome dark of night,
Where only stunted things reside
And plant with some horrid blight.

Evil surely frolics there
Beneath the blood moon's rays,
Twisted creatures large and small
Carouse till the first light of day.

There's a house upon a hilltop
Where nothing good resides,
Only mutant things live there
While hearty things stay outside.

A place of the dead and forlorn
A place of death and sorrow,
Where healthy things shrivel up
And only ugliness can grow.

THE END
© Copyright 2022 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia