The Waiting

. "‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller," As we lay behind the moonlit door; So many years we waited For the voice that would settle the score. The secrets we held within our hearts Brought us back to this silent place; Where for many days, in these lonely rooms We expected to see your face. But the forest darkened, as the days became weeks And the weeks, gathering moss, became years; You lost our trust, and we lost our youth In the salty dust of our tears. Many was the time we would listen As a noise broke the vacuum we filled; And one of us would climb to the turret To call out to the forest now stilled. Descending the stairs where hope slowly died Afraid to return to attest; To our hollow faces and our fear filled hearts This would not be the day of our guest. You bade us wait and we honoured our word The ferns have witnessed our bond; The thing we promised not to be spake Has never ventured beyond - These crumbling walls and rotting beams As the house itself slowly died - and one last time we prayed in the hall That into the glade you would ride. Our flesh is no more and our bones will not last But our spirits have entered these walls; Keeping vigil beyond this time of men Until he who’s waited for calls. So, if ever your grey eyes should rest on this place And your knocking should go unheeded; Our ghosts will see and we’ll sleep in peace In the knowledge we did as was needed. Inspired by: The Listeners by Walter de la Mare Entered for: the Masters Poetry Contest Sponsored by Tracy Decker.