There’s no such thing as an empty house
Even though it just might look it.
Watch a closed home with wizened eyes
And you’ll soon want to book it.
But don’t feel fear, there’s no need.
What’s inside doesn’t want out.
Doesn’t want friends, nor foes,
Nor you in its toothy snout.
Not good. Not bad. Quite wild.
It’s the final echo of Earth’s first roar.
You can hear it if you look close
And it’s your choice to abhor or adore.
It likes empty spaces, hollow places –
It lives to find and fill.
It’s called by the quiet
And drawn to the still.
A hunter – from scarred scarlet scales
To the bottom of every bonny bone.
It slithers through the solid
So no home stands alone.
Illustrated by Judson (More of his art here: judsonm.deviantart.com )