If Walls Could Talk
The moonlight creeps in like a thief
through an arched Gothic window,
casting dark, long shadows
upon cold sandstone walls.
There's an eerie silence
that whispers to the imagination,
echoing through empty halls.
Spider webs furnish the rooms
and hang precariously from old oak beams,
a huge fireplace now unused
with burned out embers in the grate.
The chandeliers burn no more.
Mice scurry on cold granite floors.
If walls could talk and reveal the history
of happy and sad times
that remain now a mystery.
Hi, my name is Pete. I live in Sheffield, U.K. I hope you enjoy my poems. I look forward to reading yours. My best wishes. Pete.