After The Funeral (Poetry)

Today it seems the end of everything —
while rain writes thin its scrawling epitaph
the wind is stricken mute and no birds sing
far thunder rumbles nervous as a laugh.

She’s gone — the world is finished in her sight
the shutters have come down one final time —
no more the futile struggle morn ’til night
that road was cruel — it was too steep to climb.

The house is full of echoes — walls that speak —
the whisper of lost voices taunts the ear
with conversations hoarded — each dull creak
a rough translation — meaning far from clear.

The mystery of absence has no key —
she’s everywhere yet nowhere to be found
although the ache might ease eventually
right now the shock still ricochets around...

Near-silence surges — shadows tease the eye
the rooms are mourning for the breath they knew
and dust awaits disturbance from her sigh
expects keen shafts of light to slant on through

the half-drawn curtains where her bed lies cold
and empty of them both. The world moves on
regardless how belief has been mis-sold
her garden grieves and won’t let in the sun.

While access is denied the doors stay locked
the house hangs on to all it can contain —
her history’s secure — its atoms boxed
and gathered here — all worldly goods remain

just as they were — post piled upon the shelf
nothing altered — like a spell’s been cast
to follow those routines made for herself
and keep things ordered right up to the last.