Could it be that this house is haunted?I'm face to face with shapeless shadow, Though I stand alone. Could it be that there's a presenceInside this house, Besides my own?The garden fades from green to grey, The fading focus of Goodbye.I let out a sigh.I swallow the urge to cry. Out of this house and onto the street.. Vacant, empty spaces in the faces I meet. Anywhere on earth, Any time of day, The echoed sound of all I say, Of all I hear and in all I see.. Shadows, Phantom faces, Not haunting places. Haunting ME.
Evette Carter
Here I stand in this buildingOf 1816, Of before the World Wars. The infant age of steam. If these walls could tell usOf times before these, Would the humbling talesBring us to our knees?They don't speak, Although they whisper, it seems, They have something to say. They groan at the beams. If these walls could talk, Would they laugh, would they scream?Would they say we are mad?Would we know what they mean?
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So I can let my past define me, Reduce me and confine me, Or I can choose to move onAnd leave it behind me.
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Wherever there's a sparkThere will likely be a flame. Wherever there's a flameWe can easily be burned. Wherever there's a player, You can bet there'll be a game. Competition means a winnerBut a table can be turned.
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