Superstition’s Spell

Brick by brick with silent grace,  

We built a home, a sacred place.  

With dreams and hopes, our hearts entwined,  

Two souls, one path, one love aligned.  

But whispers tell of cursed wells,  

Where shattered peace forever dwells.  

And just beyond, where shadows stay,  

Death’s breath is near—we must obey.  

"Let not the north be touched," they cry,  

"For evil winds go sweeping by.  

To bless the space, a child must wail,  

Or joy shall fade, and hopes shall pale."  

A blossom scorched by fire’s kiss,  

Then cooled by rain, brings promised bliss.  

A lamp to west must softly glow,  

Or gods may turn and cease to show.  

Three touches at the door—beware!  

They say all fortune flees from there.  

So here you stand in mystic gloom—  

Now tell me, friend, is this our room?