The cellar door opened with a creak

Its pronouncement pregnant with possibility

Simply a venture to fetch more wine

The party well underway and raucous

Or something far more sinister

Shackles and darkness colluding

To coalesce into something awful

Is it day the safety of the sun

So effusive and grossly incandescent

Or the dead of night

Moon gibbous and waning

As you descend are the steps

Resounding with stone clack

Solid and resolute

Or groaning eerily under foot

Boards almost giving way

Is the smell stale with ages of dust

A history in scent

Steeped in abandonment

Or is it abnormally clean

Citric burn filling nostrils

Obscuring something terrible

Crimson and copper

Does wine greet you

Grey with settled detritus

Eager to be uncorked and imbibed

Upon aged wooden lattice

Or is someone else waiting

Eyes sunken and dejected

No hope stirring their bones

Blinding tile surrounds them

One simple sentence

Draws forth both these places

And stand equal in their realities

The only question left now

Which of these awaits yourself when

The cellar door opened with a creak