THE STAIRCASE...




Up, the staircase went somewhere,
For centuries, they lay vacant and bare.
Once, many moons ago, these were thronged with visitors galore,
Making a beeline for the residents that dwelled on top floors.
Willing to pay the price; laying bets for the prettiest,
The business of flesh was at its busiest.
Famed brothel, now, without a single life living in it,
A bloody story of gun-shots silenced it for eternity.
For, when bets are lost, and money-debts soared higher,
The chaos brought forth, crimes murkier.
While now, all that exist, is deafening silence,
The spirits of those killed, still surrounds.



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This post is for friday fictioneers and magpie tales 301 ( Image Copyright – © Amy Reese/photo by Ed Ross )
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4 comments:

  1. Live by the sword, die by the sword, I guess. Or I guess the prostitutes just got too close to the gun wielding types.

    Great story. Come see mine here.

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  2. last line is damn good!

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  3. That last line sends vibrating waves, goosebumps to the rest of the poem. Maybe this is why the place stayed "vacant and bare."

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  4. "This woman of yours, is she worth it?" Worth dying for...

    ReplyDelete

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