The House

The gate slams,
the wind sceams

The porch groans,
though there isnt a person in sight

The cracked windows stare,
at the passing people

The shingles rattle,
with the passing wind,
as the house sits alone,
on the dark abandoned street

No one dares to pass,
in fear of not returning,
and in fear of the whispers,
and of the dark light in the wiindow

The light that dissapears,
when looked at to closley

The house wards off,
every living soul,
and reels in the dead