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