A Door Seen

A Door Seen

To a Solitary House

Someone is standing at the door
the scent of a lost home calling.
Someone is holding back the knock,
too proud, or too bashful to come in,
unless let in by the owner of the house.
The house is in fragments,
Someone wants to know but has not the heart to know
if there is a surly owner guarding his solitude .
Someone has a memory,
the kind of memory that wounds leave.
Someone hears the sound of a river flowing in the deep grooves,
Its sound is calling, and someone is listening,
if the holy waters can wash and heal the wound and the scars they leave behind.

Someone remembers a house seen

After climbing a hill

And the feet tired but walking still.

Someone has no memory yet a clear remembrance

That there was a house seen once,

Perhaps a life-time ago

And the house stood on the top of a hill facing a deep blue sea.

Someone reached and found a little board covered in the overgrowth of shrubs.

Someone recalls stopping in surprise because the board carried the name of the house;

It was called ‘AT LAST’.

The church nearby was not very close;

Not very far and yet not too close to take away from the house its peace and solitude.

One remembers walking there in times of need,

Though one never walked in

For fear that one may commit trespassing, though in need.

One never saw the owner and always returned without even a knock,

But never empty,

Because the sight of the house was full of a blessing.