There is a famous house in California built the widow of the same Winchester who invented the famous rifle of the same name.
Winchester I. The Arrival by Michael Doyle The bell tolls in the dark of night While the man awakes feeling less than right She wakes with a start and down the stairs All falls into place with her haunted stare Blood drips down the muralled wall While the doctor asks that she might recall It is pointless after all to live life in fear He offers up as though that might bring cheer To take back control is to move past illusion Removing all that which causes pain and confusion It's only in the mind that fear takes control And when you move past this, you regain your soul A mother reaches out beyond her son's death On a spiritualist journey unto her last breath Repeating like the rifles that constantly fire A wounded mother's heart will never tire Her husband also gone, the widow builds in expansion Endless rooms going nowhere in her chaotic mansion Reclusive and staggered into endless cycles of grief What then is too great a price to find relief The good doctor arrives at the end of his journey To a house greater than any else he might survey The medium had declare the the need to build and build And such was a mother's desperation revealed Though the drapes of wind blowing through a window Every creak and groan lends its fear to the shadow All for the hope that in at least one of a hundred rooms The widow might yet find escape from her gloom Wishes to be respected are set as her vapid rules Time then becomes the tempest suffered by fools Doubt is self whispered into the mirror Where self-inflicted horror is always ever nearer (c) July 31, 2020 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
