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.
Copyright © Nigel Fawcett | Year Posted 2008
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