This House

Sleepless, empty nights that are more often, than not, accompanied by stiffness. Nights as such, they hover, lurk and plague these very walls. From room to room, hallway to hallway, door step to door step, even every nook, crack and crevice between, it haunts in a seemingly jovial, hardy fashion. There come often times, it's as though the laughter can be heard, the insanity can be immensely felt...this place described is not a dark, dingy alley, an unfamiliar street corner, nor an unfamiliar thing at all but the very foundation and walls that give making to this house. It creaks in the darkness, telling of and sharing aloud, it's long time withstanding and due weariness. There remains a consistent chill upon the air, even amidst the highest climax in temperature on the so called "dog days" in a Southern summer swelter. Lights in every room burn bright and still, despite the trickling sunlight penetration through the windowpane, it remains frigid and dark within. Even the trees staking claim to these surroundings, seem as if hung low, perhaps from sadness, disappointment, maybe even a lack of life. This dark remorse coincides with power enough to tug at one's very soul...this dark house, on another all too familiar feeling, it's another night spent.