The Empty House

By Aarron Mondello


There’s a quiet street in suburbia
Where all the houses look the same
Except this one large empty place
Squatting at the end of a lane

The yard is grown six foot tall
With grass and prickly weeds
The wood is flaking the walls are cracking
Along their every seem

It sits so morbidly peaceful
Empty in the sun
Dirty windows like clouded eyes
Watching everyone

One day I pushed open the squealing gate
And walked down the broken path
Towards the clouded eye-windows
That stared out from the house

I walked around until I found a window
Not too high and slightly clean
Pressed my curious face against the glass
To see what might be seen

Dust motes danced in a bar of sunlight
Like tiny golden fairies
Intricate twirls to and unheard tune
Kaleidoscopic entities

Shifting dancing dapple shadows
Moved along the walls
A constant flux of colourless runes
Penned in shifting scrawls

An old rocking chair leaned like a drunk
In one corner gone all dusty
Faded flowers and vines marched up
The edge of cushions mildew and musty

I could not see the wallpaper print
It was torn and yellowed and stained
With black patches of growing mould
Dotting what remained

The door in the room was shut
So beyond I couldn’t peer
But the feeling I had from the abandoned room
Is not even mice came here

Muffled sound echoed through the house
To where I stood outside the room
Not carried well on still, dead air
Like air within a tomb

I gazed a moment longer
Through the dirty glass
And tried to imagine I saw walking
Reflections of the past

I walked away from the dirty window
My heart was racing fast
The house loomed large behind me
Alive, lonely and vast

I looked back when I reached the gate
And thought it all surreal
That such a large and empty house
Felt altogether unreal

Still today that house stands empty
Down a lane in a cul-de-sac
With its clouded window-eyes stands sentry
Silently guarding our backs.

©Aarron Mondello2017

Featured image is a wallpaper, I couldn’t find an original artist


4 thoughts on “The Empty House

  1. Sometimes the reader doesn’t know if the writing is fact or fiction, but either way, I was thinking this sounds like a haunted house. Then I saw you have another poem called “Haunted” so I read that one, and maybe haunted houses is indeed a recurring theme. I always find recurring themes to be interesting; they have to be there for a reason, whether truth or fiction. Your poems are always fascinating, I feel like they’re taking me on a story …


    1. Thank you for that. I’m glad you feel feel that way because often when I write I am telling parts of a story. Just a small section of a whole and it’s very interesting to see what others glean from my worlds.

      Honestly though, those two poems are unrelated.
      Haunted is just a take that was in my head one night and the Empty House was kind of a memory of lots of places I’ve been in or looked in through my life. Not haunted, yet empty. And scarier for it if you ask me.

      If there are running or recurring themes in my words, I am honestly unaware of them. I just write the part of the tale I feel I should.

      I love how you give constant feedback and insight. I really appreciate it.
      Thank you.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. My pleasure! And I think recurring themes are often revisited on a subconscious level for a lot of writers, so if it is a theme, it’s normal that you’d be unaware of it. I have loads of recurring themes, and I really don’t know why. I probably shouldn’t go down that rabbit hole! Lol.


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