A Hell of Timbers

I dreamed of a house,
lurking in the deepest woods,
a ghost of timbers.

Its windows gleaming,
shining with the awful truth,
that this place was hell.

Dark souls did dark deeds,
the timber floors were stained red.
Redder still their hands.

Cruel hands and black hearts,
souls like pitch, so thick and dark,
devoid of kindness.

Hands wielding sharp blades,
that cut and stab, rending flesh,
freeing soul from bones.

And the house feasted,
eating up these new-shorn souls,
trapping them in hell.

A hell of wood walls,
of burning, glass window-eyes,
of red stained floorboards.

Locked away forever,
trapped by old splinters and sins,
gray shingles and vice.

And when the wind blows,
the trapped spirits moan and cry.
They get no mercy.

I dreamed of a house,
lurking in the deepest woods,
hungry for us all.