Chairs Upon the Wall

Chairs upon the wall The table that adorns it- Dusty and tall.   The table stands on oaken stilts The rug beneath holds ancient mold Upon this painting, hanging still and bold Inside this manor, which my hands did mould   I sit at the table upon the wall At night they hear my muffled call; My descendants in this ancient house They blame the rustle in the wall on an old wheat mouse. But what when the wheat mouse dies? Will they accept what assaults their eyes? That abrupt confusion that irks the core- That after life, there is life- or more.