Haunting House

The whispers of a gramophone 
Echoed off the stony quiet. 
Lovers and friends would gather 
Around that old music maker. 
Those people had passed on 
To where their journey truly began. 

The wild corn yearned to reclaim 
What was taken, 
Yet the walls refused to bend to the will 
Of plant and wind. 

We kicked in that rotting door, 
Defilling the space with our foul 
Breath and being. 

It was then that the roof fell in, 
The gramophone went silent, 
The corn and wind ellated 
With joy.