Katie Gibson

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The Last House

There you stand, as you have stood
So many times before - so many times yet?
The world passes you by;
Your neighbours have felt the warm embrace
Of Man's turn of fancy, his ever growing need to improve and reclaim,
Have succumbed to a fate more palatable to our sentimental whims
Than your current state of grim separation.
There you stand, a witness to our greatest fear,
A symbol of the desperate state of dereliction
We all feel creeping, like the ivy on your crumbling walls,
Upon our own too pliable facade.
We shudder at your lonely station upon that slope,
Your own retreat from the world you seem to have left behind,
Retiring to a world of solitude and silence.
We turn away, we turn our gaze
To brighter things, to talismans of youth and light,
Superficial protections against your solemn vigil.
And yet I cannot look upon your grey visage
Without a sense of wonder; your peeling paint and misty windows
Hold no menace for me.
The multiplying cracks do nothing but to accentuate a well worn face,
A face that watches with detached affection the comings and goings
Of families much like those who once sought solace under those rotting eaves;
School children playing games like those you sheltered on rainy days,
Whose bright young eyes once gazed through those dusty casements
To a world beyond your comforting embrace.
So know that that there is one who still finds solace in your constant vigil,
Whose head, whilst sheltered by more modern trappings,
In dreams still haunts your lofty halls, and finds protection in your silent gaze.
Time's passing glances fall softly on your nodding head,
And Nature's welcoming bosom awaits you.

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