Welcome Home

‘Welcome Back Home’ exclaims the sign that hangs above the door.

The house sits darkly mocking me, as I stand in the street.

Twelve years at least, since I was here; it feels like it’s been more;

I feel the old familiar rage begin to build, so sweet.

The house sits blindly brooding here, amid the cracked concrete.

“No, there there can be no sign up there,” I tell myself once more.

“There’s no one left afar or near, for this foul meet and greet.”

‘Welcome Back Home’ exclaims the sign that hangs above the door.

The doctors warned me not to come; I guess they knew the score.

I try to move, but just stand here–I’m frozen on my feet.

I hear incessant laughter now, and know I must explore;

The house sits darkly mocking me, as I stand in the street.

I tread the path with forceful steps; there will be no retreat!

My fingers tremble shakily, but still reach for the door.

It opens wide as if to say “Come! Get a bite to eat!”

Twelve years at least, since I was here; it feels like it’s been more.

Stepping through the portal, I am rocked right to my core;

The door slams shut behind me and I feel desirous heat.

Now from the walls the voices start, and hate begins to pour.

I feel the old familiar rage begin to build, so sweet.

As memories of death return, I start to feel complete.

I’ve spent twelve years forgetting–now I must recall once more.

The memories of blood and pain bring smiling, raw conceit;

I know now why it waited. Ah! The house need wait no more...

‘Welcome Back Home’

a rondeau redoublé in iambic heptameter

(c) 2017 dustygrein