The Hallowed House
written by: Paul Vincent Cannon
@pvcannon
Strange the night of
cold glass panes that reveal no light,
or the darkened doorway with its dried leaf mat,
conscious of the sounds of dragging a foot behind,
knowing the frail gate will not hold advance,
the house defenceless in its leaning age
with creaking boards and breathing walls,
tendrils of beelzebub’s vine
creeping through its wizened vents,
followed by the rattle of eaves
as hallows fiends seek a way in.
It’s late now and the raven speaks,
reminding me to close the book and rescue sleep,
this time I leave the light and pull the sheets,
lest I fall to this night of frights
and join the souls.
I am a contemplative who is passionate about social justice, environmental care, life, poetry and nearly everything else. I live in Australia and I have a love for the bush, the textures and colours, especially the arid and isolated places, which I find deeply inspiring. I'm a romantic, and a creative person. My influences include Keats, GM Hopkins, Robert Frost, Mary Oliver, RS Thomas, Pablo Neruda, Bukowski, Ginsberg and Dylan.
Latest posts by Paul Vincent Cannon (see all)
- The Hallowed House - November 10, 2022
- As Before - August 3, 2021
- The Parenthesis Of Silence - October 4, 2018
