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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▾ 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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