Monday, 26 December 2016

Poem - Waiting


I stand in a threshold place.
Lingering in shadow, I wait.
That door ajar is not for me.
I accompany another.
She, too, waits. 
This is not a place for the living,
But I am steeped in it.
From under this ancient arch,
Beside the waiting door,
I look back towards that other world -
Of flesh and blood.
They are all going places,
Wanting things, seized by
The drama of their moments.

They talk to me as though I am with them there.
But I am here,
Looking at them but
Carrying the shadow of this place

Deep in my bones.