Room

Room

Tomb

My thoughts drift in

Not invited with smiles and greetings

But just when the air is dim

And the house is still.



I ache for this place

Dug deep down

In the cold and clammy clay



The once warm ashes of the fair

Lie behind a chain mesh curtain.

I finger the dust

That shrouds

The polished wood shelves and tables

"This should be mine"

I mourn.



The eyelid blinds

Are shut

Drawn down

Against the black night.



Only the soft plumped cushions

Scattered along the window bay

Tell of a place

Where some souls sat

Soaking up the warm sun.



I feel myself

Fading

But, I shall return

I shall haunt this place

Until it is mine!

And I can stay!

And I can stay!




Johnson's house, on Lighthouse Road, Napier