Maybe by John Di Rosa     The house of my father lived on borrowed time from its conception Why we stood our ground for so many years as the rate of infection doubled by day tripled in the night is beyond my learning the flowers so planted in blind admiration of events concerning The loss of my sister his precious girl to his own obsession an innocent soul flittered and gone this is his confession     More about this author Discuss this poem in the Community Forum     Fantastic Horror Issue #11 Page Top