The Stairs

Closing his eyes he drifts,

And hears the laughter.

The past drifts in and lingers

And grasping at the moment

He sighs.

Standing now his eyes take in the mantel

Moments in time

Frozen in time

They alone in their lives

He alone in his.

Hand on rail he climbs the stairs

And recalls when they were new.

Sixteen steps from bottom to top

So many footprints

All in the past.

Top of the stairs

He pauses.

And looking to the attic

Remembers Christmas days and decorations

And sounds of children.

The house is quiet

The past is gone

He lives alone with his memories

And alone with his thoughts

And a conscience that will not sleep.

© 2008, Tim (P) Prendeville