Inspiration
5/11/2025
On a peaceful moor lies a house in ruin.
Burnt to the ground—debris lay strewn.
Untouched under rubble hides a buried corpse.
Charred to the bone, what’s left of skin is scorched.
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His grandson comes from afar to visit.
He heard of his funeral. He’s sad he missed it.
He comes to mourn his loss and pay his respects.
But he inherited more than he could ever expect.
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The rural countryside is pleasant to see.
Children play with balloons and flowers blossom in the breeze.
To find his grandpa’s grave, he first meets the priest.
He follows his directions to the cemetery.
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He finds the place with the tombstone marked and named.
But something is wrong. There’s mounds of dirt beside the grave.
A hollow coffin and an empty pit.
He searches for details of his death.
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The body is missing. Where could it be?
But the priest denies responsibility.
So he goes to the house that was said had burned down.
He digs through the rubble until a clue is found.
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There it is. His grandpa’s arm, still holding his smoking pipe.
But when he picks it up, he hears cracks above.
The ceiling falls, as does he, unconscious.
He sees a man paint a scene of arson inside canvas.
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He approaches the painter whose hat’s tipped over his eyes,
And who claims he is his grandpa’s friend.
He questions the man, who offers his hand.
But when they shake, it’s set ablaze.
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He wakes up, his hand broiled and scarred.
Tucked in a bed, in a shack quite afar.
But his journey has just begun.
As wickermen walk when sunset comes.
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From haunted bees and paint summoning.
He calls forth an old buggy.
As he learns his grandpa fought in World War II,
He learns how they survived—the awful truth.
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Another cursed painter is visiting in town.
This artist drew the flames the set the house ablaze.
But this not the same man from the dream,
Still, they fight, a struggle to the death.
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That’s where I left off with inspiration.
Tragedy is the road most taken.
But it’s all downhill, so it can only lead
To new horizons I dare not seek.