The House.

That house stands alone.
Wind makes it shudder
And the rain makes it shrink
But it still stands there, strong and alone.

I walk past it daily.
I never go too close,
The spirits don’t like human company,
But they permit me, sometimes.

The windows are shattered,
But I still see my face where the glass should be.
It doesn’t bother me as much now.
I’m used to them taking the shape of me.

Some parts of the house have vines,
They cover the walls, block the exits.
Maybe that was the case once
But now entry isn’t permitted.

I stood close to where the glass was, once,
The window was still shattered but my face wasn’t there.
Perhaps the dead have moved on, I spoke aloud
As I took the face of the girl who walked by.