The Opera House by Michelle
The painted angel
Stares out into her opera house
Seeing an exited crowd
Mothers, fathers, children, grandparents
But it's just an apparition
An oasis of water in a desert
Millions of rows of empty seats
Slump vacant and abandoned
Now rough, tattered and colourless
Sleeping with a think coat of dust
Is the carpet
That once would have been velvety and new
Lying lifelessly,
Are shattered wine glasses
Like long-forgotten bodies
In a graveyard
How long had it been
Since this place used to bring
Joy to a Nation
The Old Opera House by Joseph
The ancient monument stood lonely and rejected,
A mouldy wave of seats marched towards the stage.
The memories crept around the room like a spider;
The foot-steps of long dead singers echoed across the stage.
The dusty clouded painting drooped from the ceiling,
The unpleasant smell of rotten popcorn drifted through the air.
The mouldy ceiling mocked the once great place.
The good times hung on the walls like lights,
The picture that once smiled now glowered;
The monument is an old relic.
Haunted House by Ben
Inside the perimeters of a grey, neglected garden,
Hiding discreetly behind huge poplar trees,
Stands an ancient house,
Cut off from the rest of the world,
Its pitch-black corridors slowly crumbling,
Into non-existence.
An atlas of decay spreads across the walls,
Nothing moves.
Paint and plaster peels off the brickwork,
Windows shudder in their panes as the wind,
Slowly sways the house to and fro.
Spider webs consume the furniture,
Their owners long dead of starvation,
A sugar-coating of dust covers everything,
In a choking film of neglect.
A rusty piece of old machinery,
Lies in the dank garage,
Its engine stiff and ancient,
Twenty years it has not run.
Before the yellowed headlights of the car,
Boxes and crates are stacked,
Containing nothing but fungi and rot.
This solitary house remains empty over the years,
Summer, autumn, winter, spring pass,
Still, its cavernous hall remain empty,
Haunted…
Abandoned by Belle
Dilapidated and neglected;
Before me stood the damaged.
I could see the broken wall of hopes,
Rough, derelict and burnt.
I felt my joy abandoning me.
Just like this building –
So lonely.
As I walked in the mournful stairs,
Remembering what it was like.
The gleaming sun hung above us,
But not anymore.
Remembering our smiles,
Our long laughs,
All gone.
Underneath my feet was the rugged ground;
Where the furniture fell with boom,
In the incident.
It was decaying and derelict,
This house of dreams,
Has turned into a nightmare,
A nightmare never to be forgotten.
I hear the miserable cries of the people,
Who were the victims of this tragedy.
I feel their souls holding me.
Their ghostly, sorrowful shouts,
Begging for me….
I run,
I cry,
I wish.
The Old Railway by Catherine
The paint work lies,
fragmented on the floor.
The derelict glass shattered,
showering the seats.
I blink, and it all changes,
the tragic incident comes back.
The day it all changed.
The day it all stopped.
Further, my imagination goes,
Into the neglected carriage,
Silver satin seats shine with pride.
I feel like I’m moving but I stay in the ruins.
The station pristine but crumbling really,
Notices torn
Nothing is how it was,
I snap back,
The silver satin seats shine with shame
Doors shut but why?
The engine, beyond repair
Nature has won the war
I have to get away, outside,
I jump and land
Right by it,
The broken rail,
The broken promise,
The promise that changed everything…
