28 September 2008

The Old Manor House

Another one of my poem's. This one's not just a result of emotional impulses. Started on it months ago, but never got around to completing it. Here it is, now.

The Old Manor House

The rusty old iron gate creaked with a sigh
As she entered the ancient Manor house
The unkempt garden seemed to sneer at her sight
And she felt as small as a mouse
The vastness of it all seemed to engulf her whole
She gathered around her the cloak that she wore

The curiosity seemed etched on her face
As she shuffled her feet ahead
The strangely beautiful mansion seemed to beck to her
As she stayed rooted where her feet did rest
Compelled to move ahead, instead she turned around
The gate had moved on its own to fling back with a resonating sound

Her lips did quiver, as she peered around the hedgerows,
With anticipation as she imagined what she’d find inside
As she gazed longingly at the door,
The wind whistling by her side
She felt a cold chill run down her spine
The tall trees had begun to roar and whine

The sun was high above her
It shone white with all its might
Beads of swear appeared on her brow
As she fought against her fear, slowly, steadily, blow by blow
She looked at the ground beneath her, strewn with dead leaves,
The dust rising in little swirls and settling, at ease

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought, she saw something move
Up, up on the window high up on the highest floor
Was it someone peering outside? Or just her eyes playing games with her mind?
The moth-eaten lace curtains flapped lazily
The glass of the window broken, cracked on one side
She saw a dark eye glinting from the shadows or was it...

Just the glass reflecting the light?
The enigma that surrounded the building was as dark as the night
But she had to know, had to see, had to prove
That nothing could stop her from going inside
She gathered all her might and set her mind to enter the house
Without even a sign of fright

The knocker on the front door resembled a snake
It shone a dull golden, which would have looked grand in it’s time
The door was dark mahogany which, with its shine and splendour,
Would have put the brightest, newest door to shame
She pushed it with her hand and it swung inwards
Baring to her a room filled with dust, cobwebs and scurrying rats

She shielded herself with her arm as a bat swooped towards her
Opening her eyes once more, she saw a colony of bats resting upside down
On the largest chandelier she had ever seen, which had slowly turned brown
The glass clinked softy as a few more bats moved in their sleep
Bustling around at the sunlight which had entered the room, unseen
Uncomfited by the sudden interference into their lives, they shut their eyes

She moved her eyes around the hall with its moth-eaten furniture
And a grand fireplace which still made the place feel warm
She moved towards it, enraptured,
Above the fireplace hung a portrait old and faded
The lady painted on it looked extremely aged
She stood with a young woman, a smile etched across her face

This must be the girl who had been left alone in the haste
While the others fled with the fear of being murdered by the enslaved
The Lestranges had been knowned to have kept quite a few innocents
Locked up in the cellar, while their glory lasted
And at last their threatening had come to no advantage
When the commoners had risen to power and they had been bated.

Coming back to the present and gazing at the face of the young, beautiful girl
Who had once lived in this very house, with her grandmother and her father, the Earl.
She turned her back to the picture, glanced around and advanced towards the staircase
Which rose magnificently to the next landing, she slowly trailed her hands over the banister.

Up, up she went steadily and turned left to a golden door which led…
To a beautiful chamber with a four-poster bed
The room still smelt sweetly of roses long dead
It was strange how she could still feel the sadness creep up over her
In the darkness of the room which mystified her with the enigma
She advanced towards the broken window,
They say the young girl had climbed up atop the window ledge...

She looked down at the haggard overgrown hedge
The saccharine smell of wilted roses reached her
It made her feel heavenly,
She looked towards the horizon, the distant sky
Only a lonely tree stood whimpering under the afteroon sun

The trees whistling her a sweet lullaby, the grass whispered beneath
Beckoning her to the man of her dreams, who stood there looking up
His face ashen, with tears in his eyes, he held a bouqet of roses
Raised a hand and smiled with lips that weren’t there..

She climbed atop the window ledge,
Dreaming of flying, weightless on the misery-filled air, while joyful laughter
Rang in her head, she felt a hand support her back,
She smiled and pushed herself out of the broken window
The moth-eaten lace curtains flapped lazily
While the eye looked for another story to go by.

Partly inspired by Vermillion Pt.2 by Slipknot.


  1. reminded me of the poem 'The way through the woods'
    the flow from beginning to end kep the interest alive

  2. @ vanilla sky

    Nice to know that :)

  3. and you are 16 years old !!!!
    such use of language and picturesque imagination ... wow ! you are creative ..
    well written

  4. @ descrying the shadows

    Thankyou very much..
    I'm trying to improve.