Shadow House*

Outwardly passable
It's known better years
It's seen more visitors
In fairer weather

There is much and more
To be done inside
The walls bathed in sepia
How often have I noted this

Quiet! There's something else
Pernicious, even pestilential
It's felt most in the long corridor
On the upper floor.

Staring down its length (once again)
sconces long in disrepair
Sight narrows, seeing only
Ashen hues at tunnel's end

Pupils constrict.
From here, all else is empty and mute
All warnings forgot
Save the pale hue at passageway's end.

Yet, after a time, I back down the stairs
Thinking only of my constant failure
To see the end up close. For who can know
What oblivion tomorrow may bring

October 3, 2012 (upon starting Eletro-Convulsive Therapy for bi-polar disorder, type 1).