The Weeping House

The Weeping House

Wood that groans with ancient pain,
Windows cry with crimson stain,
Rooms that whisper secrets vile,
Stairs that creak in twisted style.

Doors that breathe and sigh at night,
Walls that bend with aching blight,
Portraits bleed from hollow eyes,
Where shadows dance and silence dies.

Welcome to the Weeping House,
Where sorrow drips from rafter and rouse,
Ghosts will wail and floors will bend,
Till grief devours every friend.

In the parlor where light won’t tread,
Chandeliers that swing the dead,
Mirrors cracked by voiceless screams,
Dreams decay in rotting seams.

The nursery hums a lullaby,
Crooked dolls with broken sighs,
Rocking chairs that sway alone,
Guided by the house’s groan.

Run outside, but roots will cling,
Dragging back to suffering,
Once you step beyond the gate,
The Weeping House decides your fate.

Welcome to the Weeping House,
Where sorrow drips from rafter and rouse,
Ghosts will wail and floors will bend,
Till grief devours every friend.

Dawn will break, but never here,
Stuck in dusk that feeds on fear,
Those who enter, lost and cold,
Become the stories the house has told.