Grief

In a box
In the attic of my brain
Lain amongst the others
Covered, now, in dust and cobwebs
And where I go to find you
is not inside of there

The weathered mat at the door
does not welcome me
The curtains hide the empty walls
Clock chimes against the silence,
telling nobody that the endless day goes on

Inside you have been washed away
the traces of you gone
Except the echo of your foot steps on the cold and faded floors

 And in its air I smell you still
Hear your voice like distant chimes
set to the tune of the last time we said
goodbye
goodbye

You are gone but you are everywhere

The wings of birds
The leaves of trees
Water over stones

There is no stillness

Though darkness falls, this day is never over

The mat remains
across the threshold of your door
unaware of passing time
except collecting fall to winter
sun to rain
gentle breezes carry leaves
from her thin and tattered thread
singing softly as they go
goodbye
goodbye