Broken glass, shattered mirror,
a house with a creaky door,
and with creaky floors.
I could hear footsteps down the hall,
but I know that I'm alone.
Next then I know an object would fall,
then I knew I was being haunted in my own home.
I looked in the mirror and it just cracked,
but nothing hit it.
I'm stilling trying to gain my confidence back,
trying to get past —
Broken glass, shattered mirror,
a house with a creaky door,
and with creaky floors.
But this haunting is still there,
as I watched my valuable glass collection fly across the room.
I knew I had to get out of there,
I knew I had to get out of that house soon.
As the stair creak as I leave,
a hangmans noose appeared out of nowhere.
My head was caught in a trap.
I couldn't escape, I couldn't breathe.
My body was lifted off the ground as I was running,
with my legs still moving trying to get free,
my spirit left my body, and suddenly I could breathe.
No longer was I haunted by my past.
I was being haunted by freedom.
YOU ARE READING
In A World Lost to Poetry
Poetry"Poetry keeps me sane" said the little songwriter who grew up to be a writer. ~Rebecca Lynn
