Our Hell Poem by David Harris

It started with pebbles at the window,
when no one was in sight.
For about a week this went on,
at 8pm precise every night.
Then came the opening and closing doors,
by some unseen hand any hour of the day.
Furniture moved around on it their accord,
then the voices came,
arguing from somewhere.
Continual searches of each room,
but nothing was found there.
Suddenly it stopped, and harmony reined.
There was a rest bite for what was yet to come.
Several weeks passed peace and quiet remained.
Then as suddenly as it had stopped, it started up again.
Lights switched themselves on and off,
object flew across the room of their own accord,
small and large.
Pictures flew off the wall
and smashed to the floor.
Then came the knocks on the door,
with no one ever there.
The television gained a mind of its own,
switch on and off and changing channels at will.
Then things began to disappear,
we look for them still,
it was beginning to drive us crazy,
finally, we were at our wits end,
and priest we called in,
but whatever drove him away,
he never came back for a prayer to say.
We seemed to be stranded in this house,
that once we called our home,
and that has now become our hell.