We went into my wife's Aunt's House after she died. It was if she had never left.
Her House is empty of presence
But full of expectations
It waits for its chair to crease
A glimpse of Curio's that adorn
Papers left too act
Coffee left to brew
It wails in silence at her absence
The house waits
Static and white noise silent
Sepia specter images weep the loss
Yet seraph presence smiles, consoling
Material placebos are there for the living
Odors still embellish the aura
Of togetherness and laughter
Of sadness and pain
Of reuniting
Of human warmth
We are intruders
Who disturb the stasis
Wade through the silence
Traipsing slowly through memories
Encapsulated in a sense of unease
Anticipation is its mantra
It hopes for the door to open
It prays for the smiling footsteps
That will not return
The house waits
Poetry by Kee Zealy
Read 406 times
Written on 2009-03-14 at 15:12
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The House Waits
Her House is empty of presence
But full of expectations
It waits for its chair to crease
A glimpse of Curio's that adorn
Papers left too act
Coffee left to brew
It wails in silence at her absence
The house waits
Static and white noise silent
Sepia specter images weep the loss
Yet seraph presence smiles, consoling
Material placebos are there for the living
Odors still embellish the aura
Of togetherness and laughter
Of sadness and pain
Of reuniting
Of human warmth
We are intruders
Who disturb the stasis
Wade through the silence
Traipsing slowly through memories
Encapsulated in a sense of unease
Anticipation is its mantra
It hopes for the door to open
It prays for the smiling footsteps
That will not return
The house waits
Poetry by Kee Zealy
Read 406 times
Written on 2009-03-14 at 15:12
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
