Still Waters

Trespassers

And when finally it came, it came with
carpet slippers and with a gentle tread.
Sliding silently through sunless shadows,
across the hall, behind the closet door,
dripping from walls and permeating up
through the faded hues of the twist knot rug.
Undiscussed, unseen, yet omni-present,
hinted at in mouthed whispers, quietly
waiting – it had finally come to rest.

Arriving late, the house stood silent still;
we knew we were not alone, his presence
making itself known from the moment we
stepped through the door. A chill pervaded each
place with the air cloying, heavy and dank.
Even though it was a summers evening,
and warm, the air felt colder in than out,
the yellowed paper sagging from the walls
as if in resignation of the loss.

The family portraits fixed neatly in the
hall appeared to be in mourning as the
tables and the chairs moaned a plaintive dirge.
Residue of life long-lived resided
in each corner, crouching and tear stained, with
the sleeping chamber organ, now mute,
‘A Bleak Mid Winter’, still open on the
rack, and an office left in suspended
animation – no work now left to do.

Then the copious old-fashioned kitchen,
a cornucopia of culinary
delight, for years now of residual use
with just the microwave dinner for one.
Outside rots the barrow and the dog-cart,
left where they last were used –
overgrown and
inhabited by the garden they once
were used to tame, and the fishpond, stagnant, 
green with algae and long devoid of fish.

Yet despite the desolation of the
moment, we know that here was faith, here was
hope and a placid resignation to
the natural order of the events.
Here was acceptance of a life well lived
and a death well prepared for in ardent
supplication and prayer and we know from
the start that we are but trespassers in
this place – the vital – the healthy – the young.

The faithless can never understand the
peaceful fading of this scene, as we leave
unsettled but not unhappy, chastened
perhaps – and just a little bit wiser.
We have witnessed a life with no future,
with no other action required than a
resigned and uncomplaining parting –
perhaps the greatest wisdom of all… 

For a reading of this poem by the author, go to: 
http://yourlisten.com/NigelT/trespassers-rick-taylor