The room is ashamed
of its nakedness
stripped down
to nothing
but these four walls.
It tries to cover
its emptiness
with a few scattered
memories.
Its emptiness
(disturbed by our looking)
almost cries.
It is a room no longer
(merely a container)
that struggles
to remember
a time told
in humans.
It listens
to our footsteps
leaving footprints
in the time
turned to dust
blowing bubbles
as we walk from
room to room
bubbles blossoming
through the tiny hoop
& where they alight
Time flowers again
& it is possible
To hear the distant
laughter of
those distant years.
The rooms
dressed again
in voices
& humans
that make it
come alive.
Outside
Time waits
like an immense
wrecker’s ball
(prepared for now
to turn a blind eye)
for the humans
to complete
their sentimental
journey
knowing that
in the next
half-
-hour:
It will be
as if
none of this
... exists.
The humans
lulled by the train asleep
as it speeds
through Time & Distance
waking through
it
in dreams
...dreams.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/don-t-cry-old-room-don-t-cry/
