The Empty House

By Aarron Mondello

13/12/2017

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

http://www.wallpapermania.eu/wallpaper/sunlight-through-the-broken-windows-old-house

The Fountain

By Aarron Mondello

2/12/2017

High upon a mountain
Built an age ago
Stands a marble fountain
That no longer flows

It’s said that in the past
Under the myriad stars
The crystal water flowed clear and fast
Pilgrims came from afar

They sipped the pristine droplets
As they knelt upon the ground
Lips pressed to a golden goblet
Their prayers barely made a sound

Tis said that if the gods were listening
When the travelers spoke their woes
A comet with its tail a glistening
Would be the sign to know

Heavy hearted many left
When no sign did they spy
Some would even jump from the cliff
When no comet graced the starlit skies

Upon one night way up high
A travellers question asked
For the well to come up dry
And it trickled that night its last

Why he asked this under the moon
No body can ever say
But the gods saw fit to grant his boon
And the fountain still runs dry today.

©Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image: Fountain of Youth by nisht

https://www.deviantart.com/art/FOUNTAIN-OF-YOUTH-77384266