The road I followed


 This is not a poem although maybe one day it will be. I was walking up my road the other day and this thought came to my mind. It was dark and the road I live on is curvy with a cliff on one side and a steep bank on the other making it darker then it actually is. Making you wonder what is on the bank or at the bottom of the cliff. When I got home I put together this little but of inspiration. 

Narrow the road I did travel.
Old and gray it 'twas.
Full of twists and turns
And weird old trees.
Up it took me, deep into
A forest I'd never explored.
I followed it.
knowing not what to expect.
It was quiet and had an eerie feel.
The trees all seemed green.
The farther I went
the darker and gloomy
Everything became.
I began to jump
At any little sound.
A rustle, crack, snap, or tap
Made me look around.
Yet still I followed it
Despite all my fear.
The trees now all seemed dead
And were gray shadows.
My gut told me to stop
But I did not take heed.
Still I wandered up and up,
Suddenly I stopped.
A rusty old gate blocked the path
One of old and tired.
Behind it stood a caving, in house.
Everything about it said "Go away"
I gave the gate a few kicks
Breaking the gate from its hold
Then past it I did creep.
On the porch I now did stand
Trying to push back my fear.
Knowing not what lay behind
The old well, worn door.
I turned the handle ever so slowly
And pushed it open a bit.
Taking a deep breath I stepped foot within.
Dust covered everything.
The room was dark and musty.
A strange smell filled the air.
One that made one's stomach turn.
Then taking a another step inwards
I saw something in the corner.
I trembled and fled in horror
At the site that lay before me.
A body as old as the hills
Lay propped against the wall.
I ran as fast as I could
Away from that old wrecked place.
I Followed the road to where it began.
Then stopped to catch my breath.
I turned to look behind me.
Not sure of what I'd see.
The road was gone.
in it's place were miles and miles of trees.
I never returned to that place.
Yet still it seems to haunt me.


Comments

Frostbite said…
Evelyn I never thought of our house or road creepy, other than in the dark. But at least in the dark at the end of the road, is a warm yellow house called home.
It would make a good poem though.

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