Laperal House, Philippines — Nanny’s Words
by Dawg
Gnarled acacia claws the sky, the Laperal House looms–
a relic lacquered in secrets, the air thick with tombs
of memory–floorboards groan, boards stained by the years,
and every shadow stretched thin with an undercurrent of tears.
The laughter of children–too bright, too sharp–now cleaves
through rooms where dust settles like the hush of old leaves.
A nanny’s voice, gentle once, bends into lament,
her words spiraling softly, haunted, unspent.
Candlelight flickers in windows opaque with despair,
the chill in the parlor tastes of unanswered prayer.
Portraits fade in the gloom, eyes following each guest,
fixated on secrets that fester, refusing their rest.
A spectral child dances–bare feet on the blood-red stair,
her small hands searching for comfort that’s no longer there.
The nanny’s presence lingers–her lullabies thin,
each note trembling, stitched through with original sin.
In the linen-draped silence, every sigh is a plea,
a memory inked into pine and old mahogany.
Doors swing open to rooms with stories unsaid,
echoes of weeping–the living consorting with dead.
Moth-eaten curtains breathe in the evening’s stale breath,
as if stirring with memories of violence and death.
The air sags with sorrow, each gust thick with regret,
a weight pressing downward–a debt never met.
No sunrise can banish the sorrow that stains every beam,
nor can laughter erase the horrors that fill every dream.
Here, the nanny’s last words–soft, urgent, and kind–
are the only lullaby restless spirits can find.
Her voice will not falter, even as years pass by,
for she guards the lost child, never allowed to say goodbye.