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Free Verse

Just an Old House


Every house settles. This one answers itself. Just after midnight, something crosses the ceiling slow enough that you can count the footsteps. One. Two. Three. It always stops above your bed. You never hear it leave. In the morning, the attic door is still sealed shut, buried beneath years of paint. Sometimes, while trying to fall asleep, you’ll convince yourself it isn’t footsteps. Just pipes. Just wood. Just an old house. Then it shifts its weight. And waits for you to decide not to look.
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El Bzaz

I write poetry in my spare time, usually when something clicks or catches my attention. Just whatever feels worth putting into words.

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This Poem's Voice

Your Poem's Voice

PersonalThemeAbstract

Blends personal haunting experience with abstract dread about uncertainty and perception.

SparseMeasureDense

Moderate pacing; builds tension gradually with short sharp lines mixed with longer reflective passages.

DarkSentimentBright

Predominantly unsettling, eerie, anxious with no redemptive or positive resolution offered.

StillEnergyExplosive

Restrained but punctuated by moments of sharp tension; measured rather than explosive.

MicroLengthEpic

19 lines; falls in 16-30 range, substantial enough for narrative development.

PlainFigurativeOrnamented

Personification of house; implied metaphor of uncertainty; minimal but effective ornamental language.

LyricVoiceDramatic

Primarily lyric second-person introspection with subtle dramatic tension; mostly internal voice.

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