Poem - 03 November 2021, 05:56

Probate

Lonely houses

A broken clock is ticking again.
Empty rooms once more measured by incremental sound.
Muffled by ancient strata of dust.
A random rebirth.
An attempted summoning of gohsts.
Echoed memories
Of when these things were owned and touched.
When they were parts of human lives.
All departed one by one.

As sudden silence returns.
Defiant stand unwound.
All this abandoned history.
Awaits an uncaring crown.

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4 comments

Comments

Tony Taylor03 November 2021, 10:50

Hello NIGEL, so great to see you on the pages......I can't say that I know exactly what is going on there....but this truly powerful poem has me making assumptions about what is going with the abandoned homes and your government......wish I could speak intelligently about it....unfortunately I can not.......but this poem is screaming for some kind of justice or caring....it is wonderfully well crafted......and packs quite a powerful punch amidst its somber sadness!!.....ALL STARS & PINNED!!.....Bravo my poetic friend.....bravo!!......LOVE & ROCKETS!.....T xo : )

Nigel Cresswell...03 November 2021, 11:24

Thank you my friend.
I should of called the poem Intestate as that is what I meant. In English law probate is the process of settling a will but intestate is when there is no will and no traceable heirs. If no one is found after 5 years (I think) the estate goes to the government (the Crown). Until then the estate is sealed and untouched and lonely. This is just from watching a programme called Heir Hunters on daytime TV whilst in a wistful mood.