The Black House

The black house down the valley, antiquity
rearing its head. It has windows cracked
and dirty, a vision obscured. You can hear
voices, laughter ricocheting off the old walls.
The occupants of the black house, a merry
band of beings. It's party after party, and
the house gets older. The black house,
rots away like a bad dream. Fleeting
off the mind, a bad memory. I can
only think of their faces, mirages at noon.
A hazy image upon the dusty windows,
tomorrow haphazardly drawn. The black
house has a tale, all merry and no work
breaks a strong wall, a house down!