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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2240689-The-Mansion
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Drama · #2240689
A young woman wakes up and tried to make her way out of a mansion.
The Mansion
By
Raymond Lowe

Silence, darkness, enclosed am I.
Hands wet, in pain, press up against the wooden cover.
The plank lifted with ease, crashing to the side.
Dim light greated my eyes, as I rose in my earthen tomb.
Meeting the floor with hands and knees.
I see a knife's touch, brused, and burnt.
All along arms, breast, stomach, and legs.

Bracing myself against the dirten hall,
Vision blurred barely seeing the litten way.
Eagerly i stepped down the way,
Each fall of my wet bloody sole was slow.
The darken hall with no end in sight,
Stretches and folds before my eyes.

Upon reaching the tunnels end,
A rough wooden ladder led me up.
Wet and sticky fingers look for a hatch,
Though it seems to elude me,
Moving to and from my grasp,
Until against the wood my bloody finger rasp.

The room I come to filled with dust.
The footprints are all that's clear.
The silver tipped light of the moon eliminates.
Footprints clear a path of powered earth from
Hatch to door.
Weary steps sticking to the floor,
Heavy is opening the door.

Long corridor with red wine walls,
Walking down I struggle not to fall.
The carpet gently brushes my toes,
As my composure continues to grow.
Various arts all along.
Busts of women and rulers of old.
Paintings grim and of nightmares.

To the top of wooden stairs I find.
A million stairs that seem to never stop.
Step by step they thud with my decent.
Seeing the main door my heart pounds,
Outside and free I long.

To the lower floor tiles I land,
As lights of crimson, azure, and verdant
Dance around my head.
Tiles feel as ice while approaching the door.

Feeling around the large engraved double doors.
Twists and turns of flower and tree.
Turning the knob, hearing the springs and mechanics within.
The heavy wood slides allowing cool air to flow in.

The moon's silver light bathes my broken flesh.
The air chills my lungs.
Stepping into the gravel drive I slip,
And as I fall the ground saves me by turning to waves of water.
Trashing to reach the surface,
Blood volumes growing,
Mixing with the water all around.

Laying here on gravel I see,
New bruises and cuts causing more bleeding.
Warm is the pool of my crimson waters,
Flowing free.
As my vision dims I see,
He comes near and knees before me.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2240689-The-Mansion