The Road Behind My House

I was inspired to write this by ” Coffin Roads “- those were roads that connected villages to cemeteries. These roads existed in the Middle Ages, but if you lived by one of those unused( ? ) roads now,  I can’t help but to feel that would not be good for somone with an exciteable immagination.

I took a stab at using the acrostic form from a challenge at Experience Writing  Called Facing our Fears.  The phobia I chose was Taphophobia, the fear of being buried alive.  This form really was a challenge, but I enjoyed taking it and I may have a go at it again.

Gertrude Abercrombie-Sunset-c.1954

There is a road behind my house

and everyone who travels  it is asleep

pulled by a horse and carriage

headed for a house that is six feet deep

only the sleepers live there

people  who visit leave them flowers and  coins

haunted by ghostly memories

on nights when they are always alone

by myself in my bedroom where I never sleep

in the fear I will hear,

are you ready, we can take her now, and they will bring my coffin upstairs.


The Coffin Road to Loch Shiel in Scotland.

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